Accepting Irony
by Contrarian
Summary: [A parody of Eoin Colfer's 'The Wish List'] AU: Kitty is killed by the golem, and now she has to help someone on earth change their ways for the better in order to earn a place in heaven. Three guesses who…
1. Chapter 1

**Updated A/N, 7/17**: Er, in light of MakoAnima's review (and Lady Samurai's too, I suppose), I've decided to modify my explanation of this a bit. Although I mentioned that this fic was based around The Wish List when I first posted it, I didn't say this was a parody of the book in my first note because that wasn't how I saw it in my mind. But after thinking about it more, I decided that, yes, that's basically what it is. After all, I have borrowed some situations and, in the case of the tunnel, settings, but the plot here is a bit different. In The Wish List Meg helped Lowrie form a better opinion of himself and sort of live his life to the fullest, whereas in this fic Kitty has to help Nat change his ways entirely and become a better person. So the plot of this story won't follow that of the book very closely at all, excluding this chapter and possibly the second. So, MakoAnima, this won't be _that_ unoriginal, really (I'm just not that pathetic yet, I don't think.) There wouldn't be much point to me writing this if everything happened exactly the same way as it did in Colfer's book.

I guess all this wasn't made clear enough in this chapter, though I'm sure later on the differences would have become fairly obvious. Sorry about the confusion.

_Disclaimer_: What is Jonathan Stroud's, is Jonathan Stroud's. What is Eoin Colfer's, is Eoin Colfer's. The rest is mine, so _ha_! …Well, _that_ was mature. Enjoy the fic. Comments, constructive criticism, etc, are appreciated as always.

-  
**_Accepting Irony  
_****_Chapter 1  
_**-

Running along the top of the limousine, Kitty sized up the golem and prayed that when she leapt for it she wouldn't miss and wind up flat on her face on the cobblestones. Before she could decide if that was truly a possibility, she was at the end of the car roof and put all of her strength into her jump, landing on the golem's back.

The effect was that of jumping into icy water; she felt, ironically, as if every nerve was on fire. Her breath was ripped from her body, and she barely managed to cling on to the golem. Its earthen stench made her head swim, and she struggled not to vomit.

To her surprise the golem didn't pry her off or even seem to notice that she was clinging to it. But then it made sense: the eye was in the front, fixated on Mandrake, and wouldn't perceive her on the creature's back.

_Get the manuscript!_

Finally, her brain screamed something that wasn't "Kitty Jones, you are the most idiotic person alive!" – she reached around the golem's face with her wounded arm, the pain enough that she cried out, and felt along the golem's face. It was so cold that she almost lost consciousness; as it was, her grip loosened dramatically and she slid an inch or so downwards.

It took a massive effort, but she gathered herself just as the golem began to bend down. She slid again, forward this time, and caught a glimpse of an earthy hand stretching towards the unconscious form of John Mandrake. There was no doubt in her mind that it would kill him, and though she couldn't say why she cared, she redoubled her efforts towards reaching the parchment in the golem's mouth.

Still it bent forward, and she was steadily losing her grip. In desperation she groped wildly at the thing's face; after all this she didn't want to fail now. As she began to tumble forward, her hand abruptly slid into the hollow of the golem's mouth. Her fingers scraped along something jagged – were those _teeth_? – and then brushed against a softer, slightly coarse object. She clamped her fingers around it as she finally lost her balance and fell forward off the golem's back.

She hit the ground hard, to the side of Mandrake, and dazedly looked up to see the bright third eye snapping from the young magician to her, glinting in fury. Every muscle felt hopelessly weak; there was no question of running away as the giant hand suddenly switched its course and grabbed her around the middle. The manuscript fell from limp fingers as the golem clamped its fist around her.

With an agonized scream and a flash of blue light, the body of Kitty Jones was incinerated by the power in the golem's fist. Seconds later the intelligence in the eye winked out, and the golem froze just as its hand began to stretch towards Mandrake again. The djinni shook his head in what might have been regret as Jakob wailed.

Kitty watched this unfold in utter confusion.

It was very disconcerting looking at these people from above, and Kitty wondered how she managed to extract herself from the golem's grip. But all thoughts of that disappeared as she was sucked into the tunnel.

It was enormous, and if it wasn't for the blue rings pulsating along the sides of it Kitty would have thought it was boundless. The air was kind of…liquid, and speckled with countless dots.

Upon closer examination, Kitty realized that they weren't dots at all, but _people_.

Wait a minute. A long tunnel, people floating…all of this sounded very familiar. Even though there was no light at the end of it as far as Kitty could see, she was suddenly aware of what all of this meant: she was dead.

She waited, but other than the feeling of sudden comprehension there was no reaction. She would have expected a revelation of this sort to shake her to the core, but the tunnel seemed to be numbing her mind. With a sort of detached calm she watched as she sped past some of the other people, most of them looking as bewildered as she'd felt a moment ago.

As she hurtled around a bend, it struck her just how unfair this situation was. Mandrake breaks his promise and just gets knocked out; she saves his life rather than leaving him to die as he would have done to her, and she gets crushed by the golem in his place. Just great. Someone was having a huge laugh at her expense.

She peered ahead and noticed that the tunnel was coming to an end, forking into two paths. It didn't take a genius to figure this one out: the path heading up, with its peaceful blue glow, would lead to heaven, while the downward-leading path burning fiery red would send her spinning into the flames of hell.

Kitty thought of all the raids, the innocent people hurt, the robberies, the vandalism, and fervently hoped that she had done some selfless things in her early childhood. Because if she hadn't, she had a pretty good guess as to where she would wind up…

As she drew closer, she could feel the heat pouring out of the downward tunnel. To her surprise, she saw what looked like the ghost of a demon being flung into the inferno. She only guessed this because its form kept changing: one second it looked like a dog, then fur changed to scales and the feet began to web before it took on the form of a cat. As she drew nearer, she caught glimpses of soot-blackened creatures with – how original – glittering pitchforks prying souls off the walls of the tunnel and kicking them down into the pit. Kitty balled her hands into fists and braced herself as best she could, a difficult endeavor when speeding down an ethereal tunnel. If she was going down, it wouldn't be without a fight.

But she didn't go down. It was just the faintest nudge upwards, but she was no longer drifting steadily lower towards the gaping mouth of the road to hell. She breathed an explosive sigh of relief.

But she wasn't heading up, either, just straight ahead. Well, whatever that meant – purgatory, reincarnation, whatever- she could handle it as long as it wasn't hell.

But apparently the Powers that Were had other plans. Whatever force had been steering her through the tunnel suddenly left, leaving her reeling with the force of her own momentum. The tunnel wall loomed before her, a brilliant blue.

_It _looks_ soft…maybe it's soft…_

Wrong. Kitty crashed into the rock-hard surface at what would have been a speed of about four hundred miles per hour on Earth. Not that Earth speeds really mattered here in the tunnel, where everything to do with life was pretty much out the proverbial window.

That's not to say it wasn't painful.

**-**

Satan had chosen a beastly form for this interview, so it was blood-red eyes that pinned his head demon to the wall as he growled, "Where is the girl?"

"Ah…." It was apparent that hell's number two was extremely nervous: his form kept changing. Once a demon in life, the old habit of changing forms to get out of sticky situations was hard to break. But today the devil was in no mood to watch canine features poke through those of a bird's.

"For the love of darkness, hold _still_," he snarled, the sound accentuated by his wolf-like fangs and pelt. "Unless you _want_ to be chained at the bottom of the dung pits."

Stammering an apology, the demon settled on the form of a huge serpent.

"Now," the devil said, "Tell me: where is the girl?"

"I – we had her almost all the way to the end of the tunnel," the demon said, forcing his form not to switch unconsciously, "But that was about when her points finished adding up. Apparently she saved herself at the last minute by preventing some fop's certain death by a golem. It's a pity: he would've been in for sure."

Satan grunted. "That's one disappointment I can handle. He wouldn't have amounted to much here below; a spit turner at best. But the girl, idiot, the girl I was interested in. I told you as soon as she entered the tunnel to keep tabs on her and make sure she came through, but you lost her."

"A thousand apologies. I –"

"I don't want your apologies!" Satan roared, "I want the girl! Now she's probably festering in limbo, when we could have had her here!"

"Actually," hell's arch demon said carefully, "She's not in limbo. I tallied up the points myself just to make sure there wasn't some kind of mistake, but it appears that the girl's good and bad points are dead even. She'll have gone back to earth."

He held his breath as the Lord of Darkness fell silent. Finally he tapped his fingers against his desk and said calmly, "That's good news. You're in luck – you may yet stay out of the dung pits."

He sent hell's number two a grin full of razor sharp fangs. "Send in a Soul Man. See to it that whatever she has to do, she fails. Understand?"

"Perfectly," his extremely relieved arch demon assured him. "I'll do that now."

"See to it that you're successful," Satan said, a threatening edge to his tone. The demon bowed deeply and slithered out as quickly as his current form would allow.

**-**

When Kitty jerked back into alertness, she couldn't open her eyes right away. It felt as if her lids were weighted down with lead. Every part of her body ached.

Had she hallucinated everything that had just happened? Maybe the golem had started to crush her and the blue light flashed, but it froze before it could actually kill her. Instead she was knocked out, and now she was lying in a hospital bed just woken up from the most bizarre, convincing dream she'd ever had.

It made sense, really. At least, it made more sense than being flung into a huge tunnel full of souls waiting for what came after life. It would at least explain why everything hurt like…

What the heck was that _noise_?

The high pitched jibbers seemed to increase in volume, as if whatever was making them was aware that she was paying attention now. Annoyed, she wrenched her eyes open and shot a glare at the source of the sound.

Sources, actually: there were five extremely strange creatures gathered around her, talking excitedly amongst themselves. With a groan Kitty recognized the pulsating blue light. She was still in the tunnel.

_Oh, for the love of…!_

She was still dead! She was terribly disappointed, almost enough to punch something if only she could lift her arms. And those stupid things were still talking!

"Shut _up_!" she snarled, and the things scuttled away, startled.

"Wow_ee_!" one of them exclaimed after a few seconds of merciful silence, coming closer again. Kitty examined it warily. Its skin was bright blue, blending into the wall of the tunnel perfectly, and it had bulging, bloodshot eyes and black teeth. The other things chittered madly, inching closer as well. She scooted backwards until her back was flush against the tunnel wall, the things forming a semicircle around her.

"Never seen nothing like that," another one said, scratching a pointy chin with a black claw. "Spectral trail, purple."

"H-huh?" she managed. At least the things didn't look dangerous, or like they were about to attack.

"Are you imps?" she asked after a second, tilting her head. They seemed a bit large for imps. "Or foliots?"

The five of them cackled madly, whooping and slapping spindly thighs.

"No! No," one of them said. "We be tunnel mites. Once men, bad men, now mites. Imps, foliots, djinn…up or down."

Kitty blinked – the creatures' broken speech was a bit hard to follow. Still, at least they were willing to talk.

"Why didn't _I_ go up or down?" she asked, frowning at the gaping mouths of both paths, each partly visible from where she lay on a ledge along the tunnel wall. "Shouldn't I at least be in, I don't know, limbo or something?"

"Spectral trail purple," one of the mites said, making it sound as if it should have been obvious. "Good and bad, even-steven. Girl one in billions."

"I don't' get it," Kitty said, feeling suddenly helpless. The mite who had spoken earlier rapped her forehead sharply with his knuckles.

"Girl, listen: spectral trail red, pit. Spectral trail blue, sky. Purple trail, neither, half and half, belong nowhere."

That was depressing. An outcast among commoners during life, and now an outcast in death. Brilliant.

"I don't see a…spectral trail," she said sullenly. The mite snorted and passed a hand in front of her eyes.

And suddenly she could see. She held a hand up in front of her face and saw violet sparks playing around her ghostly fingertips.

"Whoa!"

She looked out ahead at the people and saw trails of either red or blue streaming around them. The ones with red spectral trails went down, while the ones with blue went up. She glanced again at her own purple aura and felt like she was beginning to get the idea.

One of the souls going downwards latched onto the edge of the pit only to be ripped away by two of the demons with pitchforks. With several yelps, four of the mites surrounding her dashed off, clambering over each other to get to the spot where the soul had been. Kitty looked questioningly at the one who remained, who shrugged and said, "Soul residue. We chew."

Okay, mites on drugs. Maybe that would explain their odd speech. But there were more pressing matters at hand.

"What do I do now?" she wondered aloud, and the mite shrugged.

"No sky, no pit. Back."

"Back? You mean to earth?"

"Girl not understand plain speech?" the mite said, sounding exasperated. "You go back. Help earth person's trail turn blue. Then own spectral trail turn blue, and girl go up. Use soul residue."

What would she need mite crack for? It would be hard enough figuring out what this thing was saying even if it was talking about things she understood; right now everything seemed to be flying right over her head.

But from what she could grasp, it sounded like in order to make herself good enough for heaven, she had to make someone else good enough for heaven too. Great, now she would probably be hanging out with a murderer until she could convince him/her that killing off people was _not_ a sure-fire way to a happy afterlife. That was really how she wanted to spend the first part of her death. How was she supposed to even do that, anyway? She wasn't exactly the most persuasive person without solid fists to back her up.

"Girl hurry," the mite advised. "Good wasting away."

Kitty glanced down at her hand. Tiny red shoots stood out among the sea of violet.

"How do I go back?"

"Through here," the mite said, patting the wall. Kitty winced, remembering her earlier collision.

"I don't think that'll work."

"Not think wall, think hole," the mite explained. Kitty twisted her lip. What the hell – it was worth a shot. She tried to put her confused thoughts into some sort of order.

_Okay…hole. Hole. _

To her surprise, the thought didn't feel stupid. Rather, her mind embraced it, wrapping around the word until it pounded in her brain, mirroring the pulse of the tunnel walls. Hole, hole, hole.

She reached out towards the tunnel wall, which suddenly seemed a lot less solid and a lot more fluid. She hesitated, then touched the shimmering surface. To her surprise her fingers, and then her hand, sunk smoothly into it, silver sparks surrounding the point of contact. She pulled her hand back and flexed her fingers. Everything seemed to be in working order still, so at least going through wouldn't kill her.

"Go, girl!" the mite urged her. "Pit strong here."

Kitty nodded and started to step through the wall, when the mite shouted, "Wait!"

"What?" she sputtered, startled. The mite pressed two shimmering blue stones into her hand. She studied them, impressed by their beauty. They were the brightest, clearest blue she'd ever seen, with silver ripples gleaming in the light from the tunnel, and if she didn't know better…she would have sworn they were singing.

"Soul residue," the mite explained. "Extra batteries."

"Um…okay. Thanks."

She pocketed them, unsure of why the mite had given them to her. What did she need rocks for? Still, she didn't want to get rid of them – they were pretty. Maybe she could use them to bribe her evil charge into goodness.

"Girl go now, go fast," the mite said, interrupting her thoughts.

"All right, thanks for your help."

"Girl welcome."

And she took a deep breath before sinking into the wall. First her arm, then her shoulder, and then she was gone, disappearing into a sea of silver sparks.


	2. Chapter 2

**_READ THIS_**: All right, guys, since your main gripe is that this is very similar to The Wish List (and I appreciate your honesty, so I'm not complaining here), I may as well warn you that this chapter will also seem very familiar to all of you who have read the book (though it's not as similar as the first chapter). So you don't need to tell me that it's like what happened in the book – I already know that. However, if it really bothers you, go ahead and say so. And trust me, after this chapter the plot of this fic will steer away from that of the book. Nathaniel isn't going to have a list of things he wants to do over, because – and this is made pretty obvious in this chapter – he is suffering under the delusion that he's fine the way he is. In a way, it makes Kitty's job harder than Meg's because Nathaniel isn't going to be agreeing with her or cooperating. Rather than having a clear idea of what she needs to do (i.e., completing a to-do list of sorts), she'll have to figure out how to change Nathaniel on her own. As the fic moves along you'll see the difference.

That was an absurdly long paragraph. But I hope it's made things clearer. Thanks for reading, everyone!

_Disclaimer_: I don't own anything that belongs to Jonathan Stroud or Eoin Colfer, but I use them with lots of respect. ("Be kind; do not step on the characters.")

-  
**_Accepting Irony  
_****_Chapter 2  
_**-

Running afoul of Nathaniel at the moment was probably not the best of ideas. Having just endured a three-hour meeting concerning the American campaigns during which absolutely nothing – _nothing_! – got accomplished, the young magician was understandably not in the most pleasant of moods.

It had been a year since the defeat of the golem and the unveiling of Duvall as a traitor, and since then Nathaniel had gotten more powerful than ever. His underlings wondered at his skill with summoning, a special talent of his, and some even said that, should he try, the fifteen-year-old might be able to call up an entity as potent as an afrit on his own, a feat which usually required the combined power of two magicians.

During the past year, Nathaniel had grown a head taller and had cut his hair, which he had come to find alarmingly long. Now only just brushing the middle of his neck, it was much more presentable in his mind than the wild locks he had sported a year ago. Presentation was everything; the cleaner-cut you were, the more powerful you were deemed to be. Nathaniel wanted to be certain that he made an impression, particularly when his youth caused him to be constantly underestimated. It was frustrating, but it also made his successes all the more satisfying. He had earned the respect of his fellow ministers thanks to his past actions.

He swept into his office after glaring menacingly at his secretary, an attractive woman in her thirties, who in his absence had been holding a conversation with one of his junior ministers rather than focusing her attention on the substantial pile of papers lying on her desk. At the sudden presence of their boss, the woman squeaked and blushed deeply while the older magician paled, and Nathaniel found himself smirking at his newfound power of intimidation. It was good to be him, all right. If only he didn't find himself burdened with the presence of such idiots as the ones he had left gaping at the desk outside…

Two hours later he'd had quite enough of his paperwork and was preparing to go home. He had dispensed with the drainpipe suit months ago, but had decided to keep his long coat – it looked no less impressive when worn over a mercifully looser garment. He smoothed back his hair and left, making sure to scowl at his secretary (who was now working through the pile on her desk at a furious pace) as he passed her desk again, just for good measure. Her deep gulp and frightened expression, sure indicators that she was worried about losing her job, were immensely satisfying.

Once outside his building he greeted his chauffer and slid into the back seat, cushioned with light, soft leather. He drummed his fingers on the seat beside him as he watched the scenery in London flash by on the other side of the tinted window, his thoughts on the campaigns.

Although the Prime Minister assured the people of London that the situation in America was completely under control, at the meeting it was made clear that under the surface, things were a bit more complicated. The Americans were showing a great deal more resistance than had been anticipated, and what with the growing problem from the Czechs, who were rumored to be calling upon what power they had left to try and break free from London's grasp, the city was finding its forces rather stretched out.

Still, Nathaniel mused, at least there was no danger of an uprising from within. With the death of Kitty Jones the Resistance seemed to have been permanently extinguished. As always when his mind drifted to that incident, he felt a twinge of guilt at the memory of his broken promise. As always when he felt this, he suppressed it before it could get out of hand. He had only been doing what was best.

_Sure, what was best…for _you_, that is_, sneered a nagging voice inside his head not unlike Bartimaeus'. He ignored it and got out of the car when it pulled up in front of his townhouse, and gave his chauffer orders to arrive at the usual time in the morning. With that, the man drove away and Nathaniel entered his home.

He shut the front door behind him with a tired sigh and took off his coat, hanging it with great care on the rack hanging along the wall to the right of the door. He shrugged off his suit jacket and draped it over the arm of a chair in his living room, sinking down into that same chair and closing his eyes. He hadn't realized how truly drained he was until this very moment. In fact, he might have fallen asleep right there if it hadn't been for the noisy disruption that occurred a second later.

-

Kitty shot back into the mortal world with surprising force, colliding with a squashy armchair that was suddenly as solid to her as it would have been had she still been alive. The force of the impact sent both girl and chair flying, and it took a moment once she had come to a rolling halt to remember which way was up. It didn't help that she was suddenly a lot more – there was no other way to put it – _aware_ of everything than she had been in life. Instead of just the carpet, she was astounded to find that, if she concentrated a little, she could see the padding beneath, the thin fibers themselves, and then what lay within those fibers. She shook her head and tried to see things like she had in life – it was a lot easier on her mind.

Once she had steadied herself and focused properly, she became aware of the young man standing and gaping at her from across the room, an expression of open horror on his face.

"You!" he gasped, sounding like he was having difficulty catching his breath.

"Yes, me," she snapped irritably, for she had just realized exactly who it was that was staring at her as if he had seen a ghost.

…Oh.

"But…but you're dead!" John Mandrake stammered, breaking into that surprisingly depressing thought. "A year ago – you were killed by the golem!"

Only one part of that really registered: "A year ago."

"What do you mean, 'a year ago'?" Kitty demanded, suddenly feeling like she might throw up, should she have been able. "I can't have been gone for more than a day!"

"No," Mandrake said, looking as though he could hardly believe he was even having this conversation. As a matter of fact, she was having her own difficulties grasping the situation as well. Not only had an entire year whipped by faster than she could comprehend, leaving her a thing of the past, and not even remembered fondly by those who had known her, but she was with Mandrake.

Mandrake! Oh, no…the person she was supposed to be making good couldn't be _him_, could it? Suddenly the murderer she had been envisioning looked very, very appealing. Why on earth was she sent _here_, of all places?

"What are you doing here?" the boy asked, voicing her very thoughts. It occurred to her that in addition to suddenly seeing much more than she had been able to in life, Mandrake's emotions were practically tangible to her. Shock and disbelief actually poured over her in waves, and it was making her uncomfortable.

"Can you tone it down a bit?" she asked irritably. "That's really annoying."

"What?" he asked, looking bewildered. Of course; he wouldn't realize how his feelings felt to her.

"Never mind," she muttered. Of all the lousy luck…how long would this little mission take, anyway? Now that she knew exactly who she was supposed to be helping, she had the overwhelming desire to get the whole thing over with as soon as humanly – or spiritually – possible.

"Well?" the magician was asking. Kitty looked up, startled – she hadn't even heard him speak.

"What?"

"I said, you didn't answer my question; what are you doing here?"

"That's what I'd like to know," she said with a scowl. "When that stupid mite told me I was supposed to turn some idiot's spectral trail blue, I didn't think that idiot would be you."

"Mite? Spectral trail?" The boy looked utterly lost, which compared to the smugness she had been forced to endure when last facing him was almost pleasant.

"It's my job," she tried to explain. "I died, obviously, but since I saved your stupid life I was kept out of hell. But I guess it wasn't enough to get me into heaven, because now I've been sent back here, and the only way I can get into heaven is to get you worthy of entrance too. …At least, that's what I think that mite was blathering about; it was kind of hard to tell."

"Er…" Mandrake still looked confused. Kitty sighed.

"Don't you get it? Right now your spectral trail is a pretty ugly reddish-purple shade, so you don't exactly meet the criteria to get into heaven once you die."

"What do you mean; what's a spectral trail?"

"Well, you wouldn't be able to see it. It's like an aura, I guess, and depending on the color, red or blue, you go to hell or heaven, respectively."

"What's that got to do with you?" he snapped, clearly agitated by this revelation that his afterlife might not be as cushy as the one he was presently living.

"I already told you – I'm supposed to help you turn your aura blue."

"And how are you going to do that?"

"That's what I'd like to know," she muttered, then in a normal tone said, "By making you a better person, I guess."

"What's wrong with me the way I am?" he demanded hotly, looking deeply offended. Kitty snorted at this.

"Well, in short…you're a real prat," she said with a smirk, inwardly delighting at his outraged expression. "What I'd like to know is why you think you're so great. _I_ certainly can't tell."

His mouth opened and closed, his face flushed and eyes dancing with anger.

"For one thing, I'm not a petty criminal," he shot at her at last. "And a _dead_ petty criminal to boot," he added, which got her aggravated again remarkably quickly.

"Only because I felt strangely compelled to perform a completely selfless act and save your pathetic arse," she snapped back. If she was alive, her face would no doubt be red from anger.

"I wonder what caused such a drastic change in character," he sneered, the expression looking to her on one level like sharp black darts flung in her direction. "Given your earlier actions and lifestyle, I wouldn't have expected it in a thousand years."

"A little gratitude wouldn't go amiss here," Kitty retorted, her voice rising. "You forget that if I hadn't acted then, whatever my motivation, you would be getting pried off the tunnel wall and flung into hell by now. Dead," she added, in case her implication hadn't been clear enough.

"Well, I'd assume that one would have to be _dead_ to be sent to hell," Mandrake said sarcastically, his voice louder, too. "But I must commend you on your astonishing ability to connect the two."

"You…!"

The angry exclamation got no further, because it was about then that Kitty looked down at her hands, which had clenched into fists of their own accord, only to notice that rather than only a few scattered red shoots there were now dozens striating the violet of her aura. She gasped and held her hands up to her face. Surely…surely just a little argument hadn't caused such a drastic change? She felt her anger evaporating and she felt herself sinking down onto the floor – until now, she had been hovering a good six inches in the air, on level with Mandrake.

"Something wrong?" he asked, the venom not quite out of his voice yet but his expression a little softer. She looked up from her hands, which she had been staring at in horror, and mumbled, "I guess you could say that. And look –" he couldn't see what she was indicating, but that wasn't that important to Kitty at the moment. "_Your_ aura's redder, too."

"Huh?" He glanced down at himself doubtfully, though of course, he couldn't see his now slightly redder spectral trail.

"But…" Kitty looked at her own ghostly fingers again. "But that was just a little row…that can't have been so bad."

Mandrake moved a little closer to her, perhaps unconsciously, as she felt her shoulders sag and head droop. This was going to be so much harder than she thought it would be, if just arguing did this much damage. Why was it so much easier to do things that would hurt you in the end? She glanced surreptitiously at Mandrake, and then away again. Then again, given who she was dealing with, it was no surprise that she would be so easily angered. He wasn't exactly her favorite person in the world.

"Well," she said after an awkward pause, "I suppose we're both going to have to control ourselves."

"Apparently," he said, a little stiffly. "Well, then."

He held out his hand, and, without thinking, she reached out and took it, intending to shake it. What actually happened, though, was that she forgot to concentrate on the solidity of his hand, and she ended up being sucked forward as though down an invisible drain in his palm.

"What the – don't do that!" she cried out, pulling with all her might in the opposite direction.

"What are you doing?" Mandrake demanded, but by that time she had been sucked straight into his body, and the word 'doing' was spoken only in his mind, within which he seemed to have taken the backseat. Kitty gasped in shock, the sound escaping not her own lips, but Mandrake's. She had slid right into his body and seemed to have taken control.

"No!" she shrieked, the voice, when it reached her – Mandrake's – ears, not her own. She panicked, stumbling about the room wildly, pulling at the hair that wasn't hers.

"Let me out!" she yelled.

"I can't! And stop tugging at my hair!" Mandrake yelled back, only in his mind, to Kitty, of course. His own mouth wasn't his to control anymore.

This couldn't be right! She wasn't supposed to _become_ Mandrake in order to make him become a better person, was she?

Or was she?

Either way, the idea was absolutely intolerable. The sensation of being in someone else's skin, in someone else's mind, was absolutely disgusting, particularly because of exactly _whose_ body she suddenly inhabited. Apparently Mandrake thought so too, because he hadn't stopped shouting at her to get out. Against her will, tears started to well in her eyes. She dropped to her knees on the plush carpeting of the living room, her hands almost swallowed up by it.

"I can't do this," she moaned, fingers digging into the carpeting tightly enough to make Mandrake's knuckles turn white. "I can't be you. I want _out_."

And with that, she suddenly slipped out of Mandrake's skin, detaching and sinking down onto, and slightly through, the floor beneath the young magician, who was suddenly in full control of his body again and was breathing heavily as he leaned over her slightly transparent form. She looked up, relief washing over her, a feeling she never thought she'd have when seeing his face…particularly when it was this close. She scooted away hastily and got up, floating a few inches above the carpet, and he got to his feet as well.

"What," he asked, still panting slightly, "Was that?"

"I didn't mean to," she said, feeling miserable. "And I _don't_ want to do that again."

"No," he agreed, folding his arms. "So I'd thank you to stay _out_ of my skin from now on."

"It wasn't my fault!" she protested, indignation flaring up at once. "How was I supposed to know that would happen? It's not like I'm used to this, you know! It may have been a year for you, but I still feel like that whole fiasco was only a day ago! It's not easy!"

"All right," he said, holding up his hands. "Calm down, will you?"

"Don't order me around!" she snarled, hands clenched again. "I'm not one of your demon servants!" She was rising a little, now a few inches higher than before and at eye level with Mandrake again.

"I'm not ordering you around," he said, his tone of controlled calm only annoying her more. "It's just, you know, your spectral trail."

Oh. That. It figured that _he_ would be the one to remember this, and he wasn't even the dead one.

"Right," she muttered, embarrassed, and tried to relax. God Almighty, how was she supposed to be civil and keep her own aura blue when almost everything he said seemed to annoy her to no end? "Sorry."

He frowned thoughtfully.

"I still don't understand how you're going to go about turning my aura blue. Are you supposed to act as my conscience, perhaps?"

"Don't know," Kitty said, putting her hands on her hips. "That seems like the thing though: I follow you around and keep you from being a jerk."

He glared at her, then looked away, running a hand through his hair distractedly.

"I wonder if other people can see you," he said, and she shrugged.

"I guess we'll find out, if I'm going to be going everywhere with you." She failed to suppress a grimace as she said this: the thought was not an appealing one. "Still, when we're out in public you might want to be careful about when you talk to me – it could look like you're babbling to thin air. I can't imagine _that_ doing much for your credibility."

"Your concern is touching," he said dryly. "And if you'll excuse me, I think I've absorbed about all I can at the moment. It's been a long day for me, you see, and I'm going to bed. I assume you can find some way to entertain yourself that doesn't involve destroying my home?"

"We'll see."

"Ha."

_What, he thinks I'm kidding?_

He turned away from her and headed towards a wide staircase. She distinctly heard him mumble something about hallucinations, and shook her head. If that's what he was hoping for, he'd be one disappointed magician in the morning. She floated over to the couch and dropped onto it, making sure to concentrate on its solidity. She wasn't sure if it was possible to possess furniture, but that didn't mean she was anxious to find out.

-

Upstairs in his bedroom, Nathaniel pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes. He had studiously ignored what had just happened while he was preparing for bed, but now the situation was screaming for attention. Kitty Jones. Kitty Jones was a ghost and was in his house. He had just had an extensive conversation/argument with her, and she was going to be making him a better person so that she could get into heaven.

There was nothing else for it – he was clearly insane. The idiocy of his coworkers and the stress he was feeling had finally pushed him over the edge, and now he was delusional. This was not a good thing. How was he supposed to carry out his duties as (the youngest ever) minister of his department if he was having hallucinations about _Kitty Jones_, who had definitely been dead for a year and couldn't possibly be in his house?

"I need to start keeping alcohol in this place," he muttered, and dropped onto his bed. Maybe once he'd rested his mind would fall back into order. He would wake up and Kitty would once again be nothing more than a memory, like she was supposed to be.

Kitty couldn't have been more correct: he would be extremely disappointed when he went downstairs the next morning expecting her to be gone, only to find her experimenting with standing on the ceiling.


	3. Chapter 3

And voila: it's an update. It would have been up a week and a half earlier, but my computer decided that then would be a nice time to die on me. But now it's back and (hopefully) fixed, so the next chapter probably won't take as long. Thanks for being patient!

_Disclaimer_: See previous chapter.

**_-  
_****_Accepting Irony  
_****_Chapter 3  
_****_-_**

"What in blazes are you doing up there?"

Mandrake's voice broke into Kitty's concentration and caused her to drop down from the ceiling; when she wasn't feeling highly emotional, she needed to focus in order to stay afloat. Halfway down she managed to catch herself and flip right side up again, and drifted the rest of the way to the floor gently. Mandrake looked torn between amusement and displeasure: it appeared she had been right in guessing that he expected her to be gone in the morning.

"I was standing," Kitty told him, peeved at the interruption. She had discovered about an hour after the magician went up to bed last night that she didn't need to sleep, and so had spent the several hours she had alone experimenting with her ghostly powers.

"Standing," the magician repeated, still looking as if he didn't know whether to laugh or kick something.

"Yes, standing," she said defensively. "Is there a problem?"

"Oh, no," Mandrake said, his eyebrows nearly blending into his hairline, "Not at all. I suppose I'm just a little confused as to why you were standing on my _ceiling_."

Kitty was grateful that she was now incapable of blushing: when it was put that way, what she had thought was an interesting activity sounded extremely stupid.

"Well, you'd be bored too," she said defensively, "If you had to wait around eight hours while the person you're supposed to be helping out was sleeping."

"So sorry," Mandrake said sarcastically, "I'll make sure to deprive myself of any sort of rest from now on, if it will keep you entertained."

"Shut up," Kitty muttered, feeling even more ridiculous.

"Mature," Mandrake remarked, and she scowled.

"Do you think you could refrain from getting under my skin first thing in the morning?" she asked irritably. "I was perfectly happy until you came down."

"Feel free to return to the ceiling if it's such a source of enjoyment," the magician responded, looking amused. "Meanwhile, I'll be having my breakfast, and then we'll leave for Whitehall."

Food. Kitty abandoned all thought of floating upside-down and instead drifted after Mandrake into his dining room. He looked at her quizzically, but didn't comment. A plate was already laid out on the table for him when they entered.

_Chair_, Kitty reminded herself before she dropped into the seat next to Mandrake. As he began to eat his omelet, she concentrated and plucked a triangle of toast off one of the plates in the center of the table. Mandrake swallowed the bite he had been chewing and raised an eyebrow at her.

"Help yourself," he said dryly.

"You have a bit of egg between your teeth," Kitty told him with a wicked grin, and he quickly snapped his mouth shut and glared at her. She pretended not to notice this while she spread butter onto her piece of toast.

Mandrake, having extracted the part of his omelet stuck in his teeth, leaned his chin on one hand and watched her curiously as she bit into the toast.

She swallowed, concentrating hard on the food, but when she turned to demand what Mandrake was looking at she lost her focus and the chewed-up piece of toast dropped right through her onto the seat of the chair. The boy wrinkled his nose, and Kitty floated upwards out of her chair, hovering over it and looking at the pulpy remnants of her toast in mixed regret and embarrassment. Really, what had she been thinking? If she didn't need to sleep, why would she need to eat?

She glanced over and noticed that Mandrake was staring at her in a sort of horrified shock, as if unable to comprehend that someone could drop a chewed-up piece of toast on one of his chairs and not fall to their knees begging for forgiveness.

"Whoops," she offered somewhat ungenerously, shrugging her ghostly shoulders.

-

Several minutes later, she had cleared up the mess on her chair to make the still appalled Mandrake feel better (which, she was pleased to note, caused a few blue shoots to appear amongst the red and violet in her aura) and watched with mild jealousy as he finished the rest of his breakfast. The crunching sound of tires of gravel caught her attention and a horn honked politely, if that was even possible. Mandrake, who had been brushing his teeth, reappeared and led the way to the front door. He grabbed a long coat off of a hook near the door, the same one, Kitty noted with some revulsion, that he had been wearing every time she saw him last year. She could tell because of the dark purple stain just beneath the surface, which she could see thanks to her new ghost-vision. That stain was the only remnant of the mouler she had caused to burst over the magician last year. The memory both amused her and caused her gut to wrench a bit.

"Are you coming?"

She started and looked over at Mandrake, who had one hand on the doorknob and was looking at her curiously. She nodded and joined him at the door, which he let her pass through first. At first she was surprised by this display of chivalry, but then realized that he was probably making sure she didn't shut the door and cause the chauffer to wonder exactly how the door closed of its own accord.

That was, of course, assuming the chauffer couldn't see her. If he could, he didn't look surprised that Mandrake had a girl with him. Did the magician often have female visitors? She fervently hoped this wasn't the case, or she would be forced to be horrified. Not only were the implications a bit disgusting, but her whole perception of Mandrake would have to be rearranged, and she didn't want to devote any more thought to him than was absolutely necessary (a difficult task, given her situation.)

Her worries were alleviated when the chauffer didn't even glance at her when she slid cautiously into the back of the car, but instead only said, "Good morning, Mr. Mandrake," and started the engine as the magician closed the door. Mandrake pressed a button and a screen slid up between them and the driver, and the magician turned to her.

"Would he normally say something if you came out with a girl?" Kitty said as she motioned towards the divider, just to be sure. Mandrake blinked and said, "I assume he would, if I ever did. I'm sure he can't see you, if that's what you mean – he didn't even glance at you."

Kitty nodded and settled back against the soft leather of the seat, suddenly in a good mood. Now they wouldn't have to come up with an explanation as to who she was and why she was following Mandrake around: besides being a difficult task, she couldn't imagine lying would do much for her or Mandrake's auras.

"So what exactly do you do all day?" she asked him. She remembered that he had worked in the Department of Internal Affairs, but it had apparently been a year since then.

"I'm head of my department now," he told her, and Kitty didn't miss the note of satisfaction in his voice. "I deal with internal problems, such as…"

His voice trailed off, no doubt just realizing he was venturing into potentially awkward territory.

"Rebellions from within," Kitty said tonelessly, sparing him the trouble of plowing on. "And things like the golem…right?"

"Right," he agreed. "I can't say it's terribly exciting – it's a lot of responsibility, but it mostly comes in the form of mountains of paperwork that need to be taken care of."

"Thrilling," Kitty said. "Maybe if I'm really lucky you'll let me help you with said paperwork."

She instantly regretted saying it, as Mandrake seemed to be seriously considering this idea.

"I don't know," he said after a minute. "I should probably handle it myself, just to make sure it's done properly."

Kitty's eyes narrowed. "And what are you implying?"

-

Balmung, hell's resident archdemon, prowled through the lower levels, masking his nervousness with a hideous and, after millennia of practice, well-honed scowl. Orange eyes reflecting the terrifying inferno at hell's core drove deeply into every soul they landed on, inspiring pure fear and awe.

That, at least, was the idea. Most souls in the lower levels were difficult to intimidate, hence their location. They were kept in cells made of stone that glowed red from the incredible heat and tormented by ceaseless, ghastly sounds and apparitions until they tried boring through the rock in order to escape. Long scrapes on the walls served as testaments to their trauma. It usually gave Balmung a warm, fuzzy feeling inside every time he saw them.

But not today.

His large, sinewy wings flapped suddenly in agitation, creating a snapping sound that echoed off the walls. A few howls of agony reached Balmung's ears, but they didn't bring him any pleasure (well, a little, but it was mostly overridden by the persistent feeling of dread tugging at his innards).

Today he was descending to the lowest level, where the nastiest souls were kept. Not only were they almost entirely evil, but they were usually insane as well. It didn't make for pleasant conversation. And this one…well, this one was worse than most.

It really figured that it would be this one that Satan chose to be his Soul Man.

However, Balmung admitted to himself with pursed lips, it was a logical choice. Not only was this soul vicious, but it had a score to settle with the girl, and thanks to its obsessive nature, it would make sure she got what was coming to her.

Balmung ran a black, twisted claw down the front of the cell door; with a horrible screech, an inner mechanism was triggered and the door swung open. The soul inhabiting the cell turned from where it was idly carving curse words into the stone of the wall and stared at Balmung, waiting for him to speak.

"Honorius, Satan wants a word."

-

Kitty stared at the sluggishly changing numbers above the elevator door, hovering a few inches off the floor for the heck of it. Out of the corner of her eye she watched Mandrake adjust his tie for what seemed like the millionth time – what was with this guy and straight clothing? She had heard him moving around his bedroom getting ready for ages before he had decided to come downstairs. It was her firm opinion that he worried too much about his appearance. He was beginning to make her think he was obsessive-compulsive.

"For all the government's wealth, you have the slowest elevators in existence," she pointed out, frustrated with the tedious journey upwards. "And of course your office has to be on the top floor. Couldn't you have just taken the stairs?"

"Quit complaining," Mandrake told her, pulling at his collar and flicking his arms so that his sleeves hung straighter. "Or are you in some sort of hurry?"

"I didn't realize you enjoyed riding in elevators so much. I hope I'm not spoiling the experience."

"Funny," Mandrake said thoughtfully, "I thought that dismissing Bartimaeus would save me from having to suffer perpetual sarcasm."

"If that's one of your bigger problems, you don't have enough of them," Kitty said darkly, frowning at his reflection in the metal door of the elevator. With a ping, the last number on the row above the door lit up, and the door slid open. Slowly. If she was faced with any more surprises, she would just die all over again.

She floated behind Mandrake as he made his way past several offices, cubicles, and straight-faced magicians who stopped and greeted him politely as he walked past them, usually receiving nothing more than a curt nod in response. Kitty made a mental note to tell him to be friendlier to his colleagues.

Finally they reached the door to his office. Mandrake pulled out a small golden key and unlocked it. After a series of clicks, the door swung open. Kitty looked around curiously while the magician closed the door.

The room was spacious, dominated by a large desk made out of shiny, dark wood, behind which stood a high-backed, comfortable looking chair. Two chairs, not quite as nice as Mandrake's, were set a little back from the front of the desk, no doubt for the people who came to speak with him. File cabinets and bookshelves lined the walls, all in order. No messy piles of paper or other kinds of clutter were to be found here. How shocking.

"Nice office," Kitty said, sinking back onto the carpeted floor and walking over to the window. It looked down on a courtyard crisscrossed by neat little paths, shaded by the leafy branches of several trees and studded with benches. No doubt a popular spot for lunch parties, where cucumber sandwiches (which Kitty had never liked) and punch would abound.

"Thank you," Mandrake said absently, moving behind his desk and opening one of the drawers. He extracted a sizable pile of papers, which he set on his desk in a neat pile.

"If I had an office like this," Kitty said, deciding to drop a hint about his attitude towards his underlings, "I'd be a bit nicer to the people working for me."

Mandrake, who had taken a seat in the chair behind the desk, turned to look at her in consternation, his brow knitting. "What do you mean?"

"All those people said polite hellos to you, and you just jerked your head at them like they were wasting their time."

The magician scowled.

"I think you're exaggerating just a tad. Did you notice the number of people milling around out there? If I stopped to chitchat with all of them, I wouldn't make it to my office until one in the afternoon."

"Did I say you had to hold a conversation with all of them?" Kitty asked, trying to keep her voice mild – one eye was on her slightly reddened aura. "I'm just saying, you could at least say hello back instead of that dismissive nod. I'm just trying to do what I've been sent back here to do," she added defensively as Mandrake opened his mouth, looking highly annoyed. He closed his mouth again and grumpily contemplated her words.

"Fine," he said grudgingly after a moment, proverbial feathers still ruffled. "I suppose that couldn't hurt."

"No," she agreed cheerfully, dropping into one of the chairs facing his desk and folding her legs underneath her.

Three hours later, she was seriously considering jumping out of the window from boredom. All morning Mandrake had worked steadily through his pile of paperwork, occasionally interrupted by questions from some harried-looking junior minister or another. A portly man called Ffoukes showed up often, Kitty noticed. Judging by the resigned expression that worked its way onto Mandrake's face every time Ffoukes came bursting through the door, she decided this was a regular routine.

Needless to say, Kitty was immensely relieved when Mandrake stood, stretched, and announced that he was going out for lunch. Although her pleasure at the prospect of escaping the office was slightly dampened by the knowledge that she couldn't eat anything anyway, at least there would be a change of scenery.

"God," she said as he climbed into his car after her and shut the door, "Except in times of crisis, you must have the most mundane job on earth."

"It's not that bad," Mandrake protested. "And I prefer paperwork to the stress of an impending disaster, thank you very much."

"A disaster would be more exciting," Kitty pointed out.

And, ironically enough, a disaster was exactly what lay in store for them, although Kitty was completely unaware of it at the time. Honorius the deceased afrit grinned maliciously as he beat his wings lazily high above the black speck that was Mandrake's car, the girl and boy within completely unaware that a year's worth of the strain of being in the innermost circle of hell was about to fall on them like a ton of bricks.


	4. Chapter 4

HEY. This information might be of some interest: I've posted my first bit of Bartimaeus fanart. It's of Nathaniel and Kitty (big surprise), and if you want to take a look click the "homepage" link in my profile. Other than that, besides the usual groveling and begging for forgiveness because of the delay, I've got nothing else to say. (general sigh of relief from the readers) Great, guys. Thanks. Enjoy the chapter.

_Disclaimer_: The Bartimaeus Trilogy is the property of Jonathan Stroud.

_**Accepting Irony  
**__**Chapter 4**_

"Will you hurry up and choose already?" Kitty snapped. Across the table from her, Mandrake serenely turned to a new section of the menu, ignoring her entirely. Kitty slumped down in her chair, leaning the side of her face against her fist, and scowled unseen at a waiter passing by with a tray loaded with food. Being around all these people eating had only made Kitty miss the activity more, and it was making her irritable.

"All right," the magician said at last, and folded up his menu.

"About time," Kitty said sourly, straightening up.

"You're extremely impatient, you know that?" he asked mildly, sipping from the glass of water in front of him on the table. Kitty traced the edges of a fork with a transparent finger and huffed. "You're the most insensitive pig I've ever met. I don't _care_ when you order your food. Did it ever occur to you that watching all these people _live _would depress me?"

"How was I supposed to figure that out?" he demanded quietly, looking at her like she was crazy. He could make such an expression without appearing to be staring incredulously at thin air because they were at a corner table, and he had wisely chosen the seat facing away from the rest of the room. "Why didn't you just say that in the first place instead of pestering me?"

"What're you getting?" Kitty asked, unable to come up with a reasonable answer to his question.

"Chicken parmesan," he answered, thankfully not commenting on her sudden change of topic. Kitty groaned softly, missing eating more than ever. Another waiter passed with something spicy, and Kitty dropped her head into her arms.

"Oh, you're just being dramatic," Mandrake said dismissively at her display of woe. "Not being able to shovel in food can't possibly that that painful."

"Easy for you to say when your digestive tract is still solid," Kitty said darkly. Mandrake winced lightly and took another drink of water. "Touché."

_Finally_, she thought. She argued frequently with Mandrake, but she hadn't yet managed to make a point he couldn't counter. Somewhat mollified by her minor victory, she sat back and surveyed the restaurant with mild interest, looking at it on several different planes and seeing how it changed. The restaurant was crowded with magicians, and Kitty watched the many-colored imps floating at their masters' shoulders with mild amusement. Several of them were making faces at their captors without their knowledge, and a few seemed to be communicating with each other using some bizarre sign language involving several twirls of the tail and distortion of facial features. And out the window there was…

Kitty frowned and leaned to the left, unable to see out the window entirely because of Mandrake's head blocking her view.

"What?" he asked curiously, but she didn't answer. A dark shadow was descending rapidly from the sky, straight towards the restaurant, but no one on the street seemed to be noticing a thing. The shadow twisted itself into a whirlwind, and Kitty leapt to her feet.

"Kitty, what–?"

"Come on!"

Thinking "arm" with all her might, Kitty snatched Mandrake's wrist and started to tug him upwards. The one fortunate thing about the situation was that everyone was too distracted by the front wall of the restaurant being ripped away to notice that Mandrake was being dragged along by some invisible force. The rest stunk.

Several magicians and their imps were immediately consumed by the swirling shadow. The rest were scrambling away as quickly as they were able, clawing at each other to get ahead. Surprisingly, the shadow didn't pursue them – it moved forwards very slowly towards Kitty and Mandrake, whom she was dragging towards the emergency exit in the back of the restaurant.

Burning red eyes materialized in the midst of the dark whirlwind.

_**Kitty Jones…**_

The voice was guttural and shook the remainder of the building, but something about it was familiar. For a wild moment Kitty wondered if it was Bartimaeus…but instinct told her no. That, and the glimpse she got of one of the higher planes. The thing's shape was distorted, but it was vaguely reminiscent of a skeleton.

Kitty swore and started dragging Mandrake back faster.

"Move, will you?" she hissed. "Use – your – legs!"

Mandrake staggered into an upright position, and the shadow writhed and coiled, beginning to shrink down into a new shape. Kitty knew what it would be – Gladstone's bones. The golden mask glinted in the flickering electric lights of the building.

"Holy–"

Kitty grabbed at Mandrake's collar and felt herself beginning to be drawn into his body – she had forgotten to concentrate on what she was trying to hang onto. Struck by a sudden idea, she stopped resisting and allowed her form to be drawn into the magician.

"What are you doing?" Mandrake yelled, but only inside his head.

"If you can't run on your own," Kitty said firmly, using Mandrake's mouth and Mandrake's voice, "I'll run for you."

And she bolted for the door. Honorius let out an unearthly cry and sprang after her, a Detonation shattering the floor at Mandrake's heels. The force pitched them forward, and Kitty registered the pain as they hit the wall. Wincing, but still able to move, Kitty pulled the door open and ran out, Mandrake's exclamations of pain making her ears ring.

"Shut up!" she snapped at him, pelting down the sidewalk as another Detonation blasted the door and surrounding wall apart. "I'm trying to think."

Skidding into an alley, Kitty sized up the fire escape on the side and the dead end further down.

"Brilliant," Mandrake yelled. "Really ingenious. Get us trapped in an alley – this is the best idea I've ever been privileged to share."

"Who talks like that in a tense situation?" Kitty yelled, grabbing onto the metal ladder and hauling Mandrake's body upwards. "This stupid, swanky coat is getting the way."

She began to shrug out of it as she reached the landing and headed towards the next ladder.

"Don't you dare!" Mandrake shouted warningly, but the coat was already off and left behind. Kitty was halfway up to the next level, the metal rattling under Mandrake's feet.

"You can't wear _sensible _shoes, either," she grumbled, nearly slipping on a rung.

"Leave my shoes out of this. I'd like to know why you left my coat there. It's like a sign pointing toward us going 'They went this way"! But you didn't think of that, did you?"

"Shut _up_!" she yelled again. Honorius had drawn level with the alley and his red eyes locked onto them immediately.

"Can't you hold him off or something?" Mandrake demanded, sounding panicky. "Do you retain any of your powers in my body?"

Kitty faltered, trying to look at things on another plane while climbing another ladder. She succeeded, and it nearly made her lose her grip.

"Yes, but I don't think I can attack anything. Don't you need incantations for that?"

"How would _I_ know?"

"_You're the bloody magician_! _You_ do something! I'm saving your arse yet again and all you can do is yell at me!"

"Say these words as I think them," Mandrake ordered, and quickly rattled off a string of words Kitty had never heard. She repeated them, stumbling over some of the syllables, and a fire ignited at Mandrake's fingertips. Both of them cried out in pain at the same time. Mandrake shouted another string of words that Kitty repeated, and the fire vanished, leaving Mandrake with scalded fingertips on one hand.

"What the hell was that supposed to be?" Kitty demanded, hoisting them onto the roof with difficulty due to her injured hand.

"It would have been an Inferno if you hadn't tripped over the syllables," Mandrake said sharply. "Forget the attacks – keep going."

Kitty ran across the roof, eyes on a door at one end that could only lead to a stairwell. A skeleton leapt up onto the roof in a single bound and landed with a few clicks of bone on concrete, blocking the door. Kitty skidded to a halt and began skittering backwards. Mandrake, thankfully, had fallen silent, probably mute from terror. Honorius' mask hid the face of the skull, but on the seventh plane Kitty could see his maniacal grin.

"At last," the skeleton cackled in the same crazed voice Kitty remembered from the crypt. "Thieving little mouse, I've finally caught you."

The skeleton stepped forward and was immediately hit by three powerful Infernos. Kitty looked around, startled, and nearly fell backwards over the edge of the roof. As she recovered her balance, she watched three djinn in the form of eagles soaring around the roof in deliberate formation, firing Detonations at Honorius, who was writhing in the deadly grasp of a Bind. A fourth djinni, this one in the shape of a large, black creature with leathery wings, landed in front of Mandrake and said, "Mr. Mandrake, I am going to take you back to Whitehall. My comrades will deal with the afrit."

She, for the voice had been female – extended her wings and Kitty got onto her back, grabbing onto a dark spike sticking out of the back of the creature's neck to keep her balance as it took off. Kitty looked over her shoulder and saw the skeleton struggling against the attacks of the three djinn, although to her horror Kitty saw that the afrit was more than holding its own against them.

"They can't beat him," Kitty said.

"They will delay him," the djinni carrying them said calmly, and started a long, arcing descent towards Whitehall.

-

Kitty had withdrawn from Mandrake's body as soon as they landed, and followed him into the building. He looked badly shaken, but was visibly composing himself as he went, straightening his shirt – his jacket was probably still on the fire escape where Kitty had left it – and tie. He headed purposefully down a carpeted hallway and pushed open the door at the end. Kitty looked around and saw the Prime Minister, whose face she easily recognized from the photographs alongside articles she had read daily in newspapers, standing behind a massive desk and looking deeply concerned.

"Our security djinn saw that you were being attacked and raised the alarm," Devereaux said without preliminaries. "This is most disturbing, John – it seems to have been a personal attempt on your life. We don't know who is controlling that afrit, but once we find out who he is, he will be quickly disposed of."

"Thank you sir."

"Now. Are you injured?"

"Not seriously," Mandrake answered, glancing at his burned fingers.

Kitty wasn't listening at this point – she was thinking about what the Prime Minister has said, that the attack had been focused on Mandrake. Certainly he had been caught up in the mess, but Honorius had seemed to be after _her_. Kitty strongly suspected that if she had left Mandrake in the restaurant and gone off on her own, Honorius would have ignored the magician and pursued her instead.

And she hadn't even been able to defend herself, she reflected angrily. She had been completely helpless. If the djinn hadn't come along when the afrit had them cornered on the roof, they would have been done for.

The only good thing was that Kitty's aura was now more violet-blue than anything else. Acts of heroism apparently came with pretty nice bonuses as far as her soul was concerned. Kitty left the office with Mandrake and asked, "Where are we going now?"

"Home," he answered shortly. "The Prime Minister has been kind enough to send a djinni with us for protection, in case the other three haven't subdued Honorius."

"He was after _me_," Kitty said as they approached his car, over which the same djinni that had transported them to Whitehall hovered, beating her leathery wings lazily to stay aloft. "You heard him."

"Yes," Mandrake said, sounding troubled. "And I doubt anyone's controlling him. He died when he attacked the golem."

"That's what Bartimaeus said, I think," Kitty agreed. "And now it looks like he's after me even though he's dead. He's got a real one-track mind."

"If he's dead and back like you," Mandrake said, his voice inaudible to the driver due to the glass blocking the back of the car from the front. "The djinn can't kill him again. He'll just keep coming after you."

"And I can't even fight him," Kitty said, clenching her fists. "He'd rip me apart."

Mandrake was silent for several moments, apparently in deep thought.

"If you're going to be here helping me," he said at last, "I could at least arrange for you to be protected. If you can't use spells yourself, I'll summon something that can."

He looked at her levelly.

"Bartimaeus."

-

I have to tell you, barely a year in mortal time is not nearly enough to assuage the pain left over from a stressful visit to the human world. It's like going to see an old, ugly, obnoxious great-aunt who insists on keeping you in a bone-crushing hug for the entire duration of your stay – it's uncomfortable, it smells terrible, and it takes ages for all the kinks in your system to work themselves out. A year simply isn't long enough.

Understandably, I appeared in the pentacle (amidst a veritable hurricane that threatened to break free of the constrains of the repressive device – very impressive) in a bit of a foul mood. And Nat was the absolute last person I wanted to see.

If I hadn't caught sight of a familiar girl literally floating off to the side, it's just possible I would have killed him.

Instead, mindful of Kitty Jones (whose presence, I admit, had me a bit befuddled), I settled for bellowing "What the hell are you playing at, you idiot?" loudly enough to shake the ceiling. The boy winced and massaged his temples, looking like he was regretting ever having thought of calling me to earth again. Good. If he didn't regret it, I'd fear I was losing my touch.

"Bartimaeus," he said, his reasonable tone making my blood boil. "I realize it hasn't been long since I last summoned you, _however_," here he raised his voice to drown me out, for I had begun to tell him exactly just how short my return to the Other Place had been, "However, I'm not summoning you because of me. Kitty needs your help."

"Oh, marvelous tactic," I said sarcastically. "Use the girl to stir up sympathy. Look, pal, I don't know how you managed to conjure up an illusion of her," for I had decided that this was the only logical explanation for the reappearance of someone who had died in a pathetic act of selflessness a year before, "But don't think that dangling an innocent commoner in front of me is going to keep me from ripping out every organ in your body and–"

"I'm _not_ an illusion," the girl said firmly, interrupting what would have built into a lovely tirade.

"Of course you're not," I said in a tone of condescending kindness. "And I'm just the king of Spain dropping in for a chat with a long-lost friend."

Nat rolled his eyes and turned to the girl, who was still hovering a good three inches over the ground. "Maybe you should explain it."

Kitty promptly launched into an explanation of the afterlife involving tunnels, spectral trails, soul residue, and – this one was disturbing – tunnel mites using drugs. I started staring blankly at the point where she shot back into the mortal coil, sending an armchair flying. Kitty rounded it off with, "And I somehow have to turn _him_ into a good person, otherwise I'll go straight to hell. And _now_ that mad afrit Honorius is after me, and –"

"Whoa. Wait."

By this point I had discarded my illusion theory. There was no way one could be this realistic. And when you're the inhabitant of the Other Place, your imagination can stretch to pretty impressive limits.

"_Honorius_ is stalking you? You must be mistaking him from another raving lunatic."

"I'm not," she said flatly. "He took on the guise of Gladstone's skeleton, he knew my name, and he made a reference to the crypt."

"Huh."

In the guise of Ptolemy, I floated cross-legged on eye level with both of them. "What happened, exactly?"

Nat, apparently weary of not hearing the musical sound of his own voice, took over: "We were in a restaurant on my lunch hour–"

"What, she can eat?"

"No," Kitty said sulkily, looking depressed.

"That's rough."

"As tragic as it is, that's not the point," Nathaniel said impatiently. He went on to relate how Honorius had ripped apart the restaurant, caught sight of Kitty, and pursued them onto the roof of a building.

"If those djinn hadn't come, we would have been dead," he finished. "And that brings me to the reason I've summoned you – since Kitty's in danger and she can't protect herself using magic, she needs you to be a sort of bodyguard."

"Well…"

I unfolded my legs and planted my feet on the floor. "I can't say I relish the idea of going up against the vengeful spirit of Honorius constantly…"

"Please, Bartimaeus," Kitty wheedled, going so far as to clasp her hands in front of her. "If you don't, Honorius will get me and I won't be able to help Mandrake, and then I'll be in hell for eternity. Do you want that to happen to me?"

"I don't see why it should be my concern," I said bluntly. For some reason, humans seem to think that if you were forced to help them on one occasion, suddenly the two of you are best friends. Kitty had impressed me when we met last year, but I didn't feel any affection towards her at all. I had done what I needed to do – that was that. If I gave her helpful hints and engaged her in a stimulating conversation, that was for my own entertainment, nothing else.

Kitty looked hurt. That figured. But five thousand years of toil and magnificent deeds would have gone to waste if I was unable to maintain a stony heart when faced with a girl's tragic expression, knowing that without my protection she would be unable to help the kid and therefore be subjected to eternal torment…oh, _hell_ (no pun intended).

"Look. If I agree to watch out for you for _a little while_, it's not because of you. It's because if one of you deserves to be in hell, it would be the tight-suited pansy over there and not you. Hopefully once you've accomplished your little mission, you'll float off to heaven and he'll change right back to the prat he is now and secure himself a position in the underworld."

In all honesty, any words after "a little while" were wasted – Kitty was grinning like a maniac and obviously wasn't listening to a thing I said. Nat looked relieved, apparently choosing to ignore my ill wishes towards the state of his soul.

"Good," he said briskly, rubbing his hands together. "In that case, you agree to protect Kitty until she has completed her mission here?"

"Yeah, all right," I said begrudgingly. If I was going to do this, it didn't mean I had to do it with grace. "But then I'm going straight home, do you hear me?"

"Absolutely," Nat said grandly, waving a hand about carelessly. Unfortunately, it didn't even graze the edge of his pentacle. Curse my luck.

"So," I said to Kitty as Nat spat out a few protective clauses and stepped out of the circle, "You can't eat, you can't fight…what _can_ you do?"

-

On a flame-scarred and battered rooftop some miles away, the last of three djinn perished with an agonized shriek in a burst of black flames. Honorius, who had maintained the guise of his old skeleton prison throughout the battle even though it wasn't the most practical for fighting against winged enemies, crouched low to the ground and attempted to recover his strength.

But an irresistible force was drawing him out of the human world, and he couldn't withstand it for more than a few seconds; the fight with the djinn had weakened him too much.

"No…" he hissed as his form began to break apart, and dug his flickering fingers into the concrete, but it was too late. The skeleton on the roof seemed to be sucked into the surrounding air, and his spirit was drawn back into the tunnel.

Satan was not pleased with his return.


	5. Chapter 5

**_Accepting Irony_**

**_Chapter 5_**

"I never noticed how much time everyone spends _sleeping_," Kitty observed. She was sprawled in an armchair in Nat's living room, apparently having abandoned floating for the time being. I was sitting in a much more dignified position on a table across the room, in Ptolemy's guise, of course.

"I've always found it pathetic," I agreed, scratching my chin absently. In contrast to our last deep, meaningful conversation, we'd spent the last several hours engaged in mindless chit-chat. As tedious as that was for an entity of my intellect, it occurred to me that this could be all that Kitty was up for at the moment – her aura radiated exhaustion. Not that she would admit to it – I had already pointed it out with my usual tact and she immediately denied everything.

"It's kind of annoying," she persisted, ignoring my apparent lack of interest in the subject (and can you blame me? I've been around five thousand years – you might have guessed that I'd noticed this before).

"Especially if you need to get things done," I supplied generously, and then made an effort to switch the subject. "Listen. What exactly is your plan for turning that smarmy bastard into a normal human being?"

Kitty frowned and shrugged wearily. "I…am not sure yet, but a plan should come to me."

"With a case like this, you could be sitting around here waiting for an idea until he dies. You might want to give it some thought."

Her expression became strained. "I know. But no one told me exactly how I'm supposed to be doing this. But I don't think running for our lives – or, his life, my….whatever – and thus forcing him into doing random good deeds is the best way to go about it."

"Hmm. And meanwhile, your spiritual energy's running out."

"It's _not_," she said aggressively. "I'm just a little tired, that's all. Kind of goes hand in hand with sprinting through London in another person's body while evading an undead menace."

I raised my eyebrows and glanced upwards with the appropriate amount of skepticism. Kitty huffed and scowled at the floor.

"Hey," she said after a minute, "Can you see my spectral trail?"

"Nope," I answered promptly. "Since I am, obviously, still alive."

"I know that," she muttered. "But I thought you might be able to see it with your djinni powers."

"I can only observe the different planes in the _living _universe."

"Oh."

She paused, clearly searching for something else to say. Suddenly she snapped her fingers and said, "Here – this was bothering me. Mandrake's chauffer couldn't see me when I left the house with him this morning, but somehow patrol managed to spot Honorius. We're both dead; why could they see him but not me?"

"Was the patrol human or spirit?"

"Um…spirit."

"That's it, then. Humans only have access to one plane, unless they have lenses," I explained (a little wearily, as I'd given versions of this lecture hundreds of times to myriad curious magicians). "I can see you, but only on the seventh plane. Don't know why that is, but seven is an interesting number. Not now – let me finish this explanation first," I said firmly, as she was all set to fire more questions at me and I didn't want to get off-track.

"Where was I? Right – the spirit in question caught a glimpse of Honorius on the seventh plane and probably assumed he was powerful enough to conceal himself on the other six. The humans, in their turn, must have thought the same thing…if indeed they devoted much of their meager brainpower to the subject at all."

In response to this concise and articulate rationalization, Kitty shrugged and said, "I guess that makes sense."

Another silence fell, and stretched on for a while. I amused myself by theorizing on the purpose of human existence. I hadn't gotten very far – everything humans do seems to be completely random and pointless – when she spoke up again, a little more brightly.

"It's six thirty. He should be waking up in about half an hour."

"And you still have no idea what to do about him," I reminded her dryly. She frowned.

"Do _you _have any ideas?"

"A few, but something tells me you've got to work it out for yourself. Otherwise you won't be doing your job and you won't be rewarded for it, and then–"

"I go straight to hell," she finished loudly. "I _know_, all right?"

"What are you yelling about?" a tired voice asked from the doorway, and both of us looked around. Nat stood in the doorway, fully dressed but looking less than alert. Kitty raised her eyebrows.

"_You're_ ready early. I didn't even think you'd be awake yet."

"I can see how engaging your conversation must have been," Nathaniel said, stifling a yawn, "If you're analyzing my sleep patterns."

He moved towards the dining room, but didn't stop to eat. Instead he went straight through to the foyer and reached for his coat. Seeing this, Kitty got up and drifted over to him.

"What, are you leaving already?"

"Devereaux called. Apparently there's been something of a disturbance by the docks. I'm not sure what it is, exactly – he was vague, obviously distracted – but he wants me to go right away."

"I didn't hear a phone ring," Kitty said, and turned to me as I approached. "Did you?"

Nat held up a small cell phone in wordless explanation before I could answer, then slid his arms into his coat and shrugged it onto his shoulders.

"The phone didn't ring – it's on vibrate," he told Kitty. "I doubt you would have heard it from two floors down."

"Aren't you going to _eat_ something before you go?" Kitty asked, her tone decidedly sour. Nat's expression became pinched with annoyance.

"Are you ever going to get over the fact that you can't eat? At least you'll never be painfully hungry."

Kitty grumbled something and half-floated, half-dragged herself out the door he held open for her. I smiled cheekily at him as I stepped through after her.

"Quite the gentleman you are. It's nice to see some respect for once."

He rolled his eyes and yawned as he shut and locked the door. Kitty was already waiting at the door of Nat's car, climbing in only after he opened it for her. Presumably this was to keep from causing the chauffer undue confusion – doors didn't open themselves. Technology wasn't quite there yet. Nathaniel looked at me irritably as he squeezed into the back seat; with Kitty and me both in the car, there was barely enough room for his bony behind.

"I don't suppose you could change into something a little smaller, could you?"

"Nah," I said, folding my arms behind my head and nearly elbowing him in the ear. "I'm comfortable. Thanks, though."

He scowled and turned to a panel of buttons on the side of his door, pressing one. A pane of tinted glass slid up behind the driver's seat, separating him from the motley crew in the backseat. With the partition rolled up, it was safe for us to talk with Kitty.

"So," she said almost as soon as the screen squelched into position at the roof of the car, "All the Prime Minister said was that there was a disturbance downtown? How are you supposed to prepare yourself for what happened?"

Nathaniel shrugged and replied, "He might not know exactly what happened yet, just that my department is involved. I'm sure that whatever it is, it can't be worse than the golem."

"Counting chickens," Kitty muttered darkly, and the kid looked at her oddly.

"What?"

Kitty widened her eyes at him in annoyance.

"You _know_ – counting your chickens before they've hatched, and all that. It means you're jinxing yourself, stupid."

"Forgive me for not being familiar with this _farm_ terminology."

"I was on a farm once," I interjected. "It wasn't so much about the chickens as the cows."

Nat shot an exasperated look at me, then glanced at Kitty.

"Don't take this the wrong way, but it's probably problems with Resistance-like rebels. There are–"

"Warehouses holding a bunch of magical materials by the docks, yeah," Kitty finished absently, then started guiltily. "Not that I would know anything about that."

"Of course," Nat said dryly.

"Doesn't matter anyway," I supplied helpfully. "What's he going to do, kill you?"

Kitty looked disgruntled; she was alarmingly sensitive about being dead.

"Bad joke," Nat observed unnecessarily, then abruptly leaned forward in his seat, brow furrowing, squinting at the ridiculously dark tinted window. I couldn't imagine that he saw anything other than his own reflection, but that was more than enough to warrant his expression of consternation.

"What?" Kitty asked, the sullenness not quite out of her tone yet.

"The warehouses," he said, not turning from the window. "Two – no – three of them are burning."

The car rolled smoothly to a stop by the curb. A small group of magicians had spread out, watching the fire. Some looked angry, others confused, others distressed. Some were fearful, some were markedly indifferent, and some were–

Admittedly, there were only five of them there.

"Mandrake," one of them called as soon as he clambered out of the car. Kitty and I followed swiftly, and she, perhaps without thinking, closed the door behind us. A couple of the magicians looked around, bemused, but a young woman with copper-colored hair unwittingly saved the situation by saying, "Wish we'd had your demons around an hour ago – might've helped."

"What happened, Fennel?"

"It _looked _like an ordinary strike – you know dock workers and the like have been agitated as of late – but it turns out they'd also stolen some magical weapons from the warehouses, there."

"They used these weapons against the magicians at the scene?"

"Some of them – they were apprehended – but most just chucked them back at the warehouses, and now…"

She gestured toward the burning buildings, lips pursed. Uniformed men with large hoses were attempting to control the fire, shouting to each other over the crackling of the flames. Fennel sighed explosively.

"I have no idea how they knew what those warehouses were, much less how they were able to break in – the barriers surrounding the buildings should have been enough to keep out curious commoners."

Nat nodded absently, clearly thinking. Kitty was frowning at the dancing flames, also deep in thought.

"Did you have any contacts who could penetrate magical defenses?" I asked, and she shook her head.

"No. Some of my group could see de – spirits – and some were able to resist their magic, but none of us could break spells. Maybe someone found our cellar and was able to activate some of the objects there?"

I shook my head.

"Nat probably sent people in to clear that place out once you showed him where it was."

"Oh. Right."

"How's his spectral trail look, by the way?"

Kitty squinted at him and sighed.

"Redder than it was in the car. He must be thinking evil thoughts."

-

"Where are the prisoners now?" Nathaniel asked. He knew that this, not the burning warehouses, was the reason he'd been involved.

"In the Tower, would be my best guess," Fennel answered, chewing her lip. She started complaining about the damage done and the sheer amount supplies they would be losing because of it, but Nathaniel wasn't really listening. He was thinking of the prisoners and what they might know, and how me might go about extracting that information.

"What kind of weapons did they use?" he asked, interrupting her tirade. Fennel paused and composed herself.

"Let me think. Inferno sticks, mouler glasses, and the like. None of them had gotten their hands on anything of real potency, thankfully, or the results would have been worse than this. Anyway, two of the wolves were injured, the rest of us were merely enormously inconvenienced."

She was working herself back into her temper, but Nathaniel had tuned her out once again. Mouler glasses. Those required an activating command. A simple Latin word, admittedly, but still – a commoner shouldn't know _anything_ about the glasses, especially how to use them. His mind immediately jumped, of course, to the Resistance; they had certainly known more than the average commoner. Had a new traitorous group formed?

"Yes, it's terrible, Fennel," he said absently, as she appeared to be waiting for him to offer some kind of reaction to her incensed speech. "But I'll sort this out. I'm going to the Tower now; we'll see what the commoners have to say about this morning's uprising."

"You do that, Mandrake."

Fennel half-turned away, still grumbling. Nathaniel walked back to the car. As soon as he had climbed in and shut the door, Kitty – who, along with Bartimaeus, had slipped in ahead of him as usual – turned and demanded, "What are you going to do to those workers?"

Her tone irked him; it was early, he hadn't eaten, and he had what could become an unpleasant task ahead of him – he'd never had much fondness for the Tower, and generally found the methods used therein distasteful. That wasn't to say he hadn't put them to use before, or would refuse to do so again, particularly in a situation involving national security.

"I'm going to question them," he responded shortly. "Whether they cooperate is their own decision."

"Your spectral trail's looking particularly _vivid_ today," Kitty informed him tetchily. "Whatever you're planning to do can't be too pleasant."

"Then hopefully they'll talk and I won't have to carry out my nefarious plot," he replied, sarcasm lacing his tone, "if it's going to prove so destructive to my soul."

"This isn't a joke, you know," Kitty said hotly. "This isn't just _your_ afterlife that hangs in the balance, it's mine, too!"

"Your point?"

"You should have some concern for someone other than your stupid self, that's my point! You think you can just go along, merrily tormenting people all your life, and then, at the very end, do one good thing and be on the fast-track to the pearly gates?"

"Wait…that situation sounds disturbingly familiar," he said, looking at Kitty pointedly. Her face darkened.

"Yes," she said coldly, "And look where I ended up: with you. I'm not so sure this isn't some extension of hell."

"Clever. How's _your_ spectral trail looking, Kitty? Since I'm supposed to be expressing _concern_."

"Better than yours, thanks," she shot back. "Really, Mandrake, what are you going to do to the workers if they don't start groveling and confessing as soon as you walk in?"

"Politely encourage them to tell me all about the incident, of course. What do you think I'm going to do?"

"Judging by the fantastic shade of red you're sporting there, something unnecessarily bad. I've heard rumors about the Tower, you know. If you torture these people–"

"_He'll just be doing his job_," Bartimaeus spoke up in a mockingly high-pitched voice, gazing shrewdly at Nathaniel while speaking to Kitty. "What kind of rumors have you heard, just out of curiosity?"

"Well, the remains of the prisoners hanging from the battlements kind of speak for themselves–"

"Which is precisely the _point_," Nathaniel muttered, but Kitty ignored him.

"–And I've just heard vague things about them…mutilating people." Her voice shook a bit. "Putting them in cells that shrink and slowly crush them, that kind of thing."

"How wonderfully hysterical," Nathaniel said, rolling his eyes.

"And fairly accurate," Bartimaeus interjected. "Or do you only use your Mournful Orbs on the nobler entities? Yeah, I've had first-hand experience with those, thanks to you and your stupid charges," he added at Nathaniel's surprised glance. Bartimaeus had never really elaborated on his brief captivity in the Tower three years ago, when he had been caught while carrying out a charge Nathaniel had given him as a twelve-year-old.

"What are Mournful Orbs?" Kitty asked suspiciously.

"Oh, nothing too terrible," Bartimaeus answered. "Just these cages made out of stuff that can incinerate you that the magicians can shrink at will. Boring, eh?"

Kitty looked appalled, turning to Nathaniel furiously.

"How can you do that to people? To spirits?"

"It's not like we just yank people off the street and throw them into Orbs," Nathaniel snapped, fed up with both of them. "These are people who seriously endanger their country – which happens to include other commoners, not just magicians," he pointed out.

"Yeah, but which of the two are you really concerned about?" Kitty inquired accusingly.

"Enough," he growled. "We're here."

-

"Luckily," Balmung said, trying to disguise his nervousness as he escorted Honorius to the section of the tunnel wall that led back to the mortal world, "the boy's condition has only worsened since you were…unfortunately detained."

Honorius, red eyes rolling madly in his skull, turned to snarl at Balmung, who tried not to gulp audibly. His claws tightened around the glittering silver pitchfork he had brought along just in case…well, just in case. Like he'd said, lowest-level souls were nasty buggers.

"Intelligence tells us that they're headed toward the Tower of London," he continued, talking perhaps a little more quickly than a coolly unconcerned archdemon might, "so you'll reenter near that point. Also, we have knowledge that the boy has summoned an entity since his first encounter with you – a djinni, Bartimaeus."

Balmung wasn't sure why Satan had wanted him to share this particular piece of information – Honorius would be able to handle a djinni without much trouble – but the afrit's reaction spoke for itself.

"BARTIMAEUS!" he howled, eyes flaring and rolling more than ever, bony hands clenching into fists. He tore past Balmung and clawed his way through the pulsing blue wall, his mad cries echoing throughout the vast, ethereal space long after he had departed in a spray of silver sparks.


	6. Chapter 6

So I would have had a long, apologetic note at the beginning of the last chapter, but in my haste to finally update I forgot to put it in. But I really do apologize – if I couldn't kick my writer's block and write a chapter within a year, I should have at least indicated that the story was on hiatus. It was very inconsiderate of me.

Happily, I'm inspired again, and I'll be doing my best to stay on track and update every couple of weeks or so. I probably won't be consistent all the time – I'm starting college this year and will need time to adjust – but know that I'm trying.

To everyone who read and/or reviewed, thanks for sticking with me. Hope you enjoy the chapter (but in order for you to do that, I'll have to actually shut up and let you read it, won't I?)

-

****

**_Accepting Irony_**

**_Chapter 6_**

Kitty's mind was racing as she followed Mandrake through a series of gateways that led them deeper and deeper into the Tower. There were two big reasons that she wanted to prevent Mandrake from torturing the prisoners. The first and most obvious was that it would wreak havoc on his soul, and therefore she would be that much closer to an eternity of fire and brimstone. The second was that she identified heavily with the prisoners, having had the short end of the shaft for the brief period that had been her life. All they had been doing was what she, Mr. Pennyfeather, and the rest of the Resistance had always hoped they would: take a stand.

Also, she would have to be present during all this, as she was unwilling to leave Mandrake alone with his obviously malfunctioning conscience, and she really didn't want to watch people being tortured.

Bartimaeus had not been allowed in, and had flown off in the form of a small brown bird to wait. Now that he was gone, Kitty suddenly remembered why Mandrake had summoned him in the first place, so she felt curiously defenseless on top of everything else.

For his part, Mandrake looked grim. He was in a foul temper, as made evident in the car ride to the Tower, and therefore even less prone to listen to her than usual. But she did have one advantage at the moment, which was that he couldn't speak to her, since he was being escorted by four guards who would wonder why he was speaking to thin air if he did. She took the opportunity to argue her point as best she could while he was unable to interrupt.

"Listen," she said urgently, floating in front of him (he couldn't even glare at her properly when surrounded by guards), "I know you think that you need to do this, that it's part of your job and all that, but that doesn't make it _right_. Just stop one minute and try to picture what life is like for these people! Try to understand why they might have done what they did – they're not trying to overthrow the government, they just don't want to be steamrolled by it!"

He jerked his head a bit, as if there was an annoying insect buzzing in his ear. His expression was like stone – if she was getting through to him, he was doing a spectacular job of hiding it. She paused for a second, considering. Since appealing to his better nature didn't seem to be working, she tried appealing to his ego instead.

"You're smart!" she said desperately. "You can think of a way to trick them into telling you what you want to know if you just put your mind to it, I know you can. You did it to me, didn't you?"

His hand flicked up as if to brush his hair out of his face, concealing the roll of his eyes. Great. Apparently she'd insulted him a few too many times for him to take her flattery seriously. Either that or he didn't think fooling her was exactly deserving of a medal, which was kind of irritating.

"Please," she said quietly, but the wailing of a siren drowned it out, preceeding them as they passed through a portal into a circular stone chamber. Their human guard fell back as they entered the portal, but two huge demons clutching spears with silver tips met them on the other side. They saluted Mandrake as he passed, and despite their intimidating size and musculature, something about their eyes gave Kitty the distinct impression that they were pretty dim.

Extremely thick stone pillars ascended toward the ceiling, too high for Kitty to see what was on the platforms they supported. Just as she was wondering how Mandrake expected to interrogate the prisoners from down here, he stopped and the flagstone beneath him wobbled. She quickly stepped onto it behind him as it began to rise into the air, a few faint grunts beneath them the only sign of the entity that supported the weight. They rose until they were on the same level as the platforms, four in all, each holding its own man within an ominously humming blue-white sphere. Their eyes were all trained warily on Mandrake.

"Please don't," Kitty said again, touching his shoulder. She couldn't see his expression, but felt him take a deep breath.

-

Ironically enough, my own escape from the Tower of London was what prevented me from entering it again. Since the incident in which Faquarl and Jabor broke me out (dubious saviors to be sure), entities like me were no longer allowed near the Tower. I took on the form of a finch and flitted an acceptable distance away, then settled down to wait for my master's return.

I have to admit I was feeling bad for Kitty at this point. She could have had a nice axe murderer to work with, but instead she was stuck trying to persuade Nat not to be what every magician aspires to be: a complete tyrant. The fate of her soul rested in his manicured hands, and, if his behavior in the car was any indication, he didn't seem to care.

What a shock.

I preened my feathers and considered the situation. Kitty was going to have to figure out a way to reach him quickly, especially since she had the added complication of a mad, undead afrit on her tail. Which brought my thoughts back to the most interesting subject at hand: myself. I despise being summoned, but it's worse when I'm stuck sitting around doing nothing, and since Kitty had to follow the kid into the Tower to play conscience, I was now perched on a road sign twiddling my proverbial thumbs. Not that I thought Honorius would be able to get to her while she was inside the Tower, but I was slightly uncomfortable with the current circumstances.

Not that I cared much what happened to her one way or the other, mind. But my charge was to protect her, and if Honorius harmed her I would fail in said charge, leaving me at Nat's tender mercy. The nonchalance with which he was preparing to torture information out of some dock workers didn't leave me feeling very optimistic about my own chances if I slipped up.

So immersed was I in grim speculation that the chill breeze that suddenly ruffled my feathers barely registered; it fit my current mood so perfectly it was just part of the background. It kept up for longer than I expected, though, increasing in force until I had to curl my claws a little more tightly around the metal sign to avoid sliding off. I puffed up my plumage and my little bird head flicked left and right in consternation, scanning the planes for the source of the disturbance. It seemed to me that the wind carried traces of menacing whispers, the quality of the voice shifting with each syllable – a man's deep tones, then a woman's, then a child's – in an unsettlingly familiar manner.

The previously cloudless sky began to darken ominously as a particularly strong gust of wind pushed me to the very edge of the sign, my claws squealing against the metal.

"And where are your silver weapons now, little djinni?" asked a voice right next to my ear. A high, mad cackle rent the air as I lurched forward off the sign, wheeling around wildly in the air to face Honorius, currently a large black cat perched implausibly on the thin sign I had just vacated, an unstable gleam in its red eyes and mouth open in a gaping grin that revealed many sharp, wet, poisonous-looking teeth.

"Er," I said.

"The first time we met," the cat said, its casual tone offset by its unwavering stare and the slow, deliberate movements of its sinuous tail, "you fled from my scimitar like a coward. The second time, you attacked me with silver and tried to drown me in that turgid river. The third, you were in the company of the thieving mouse who robbed my crypt."

Honorius paused, a sharp red tongue flicking in and out of his mouth in a manner more serpentine than feline. He seemed to be waiting for me to respond. I didn't – I was trying very hard to think of a way out of this situation that didn't involve my own demise.

"And now," he continued softly after a strained silence, eyes flaring, "You're protecting that same little mouse, aren't you?"

"Interesting," I said in a slightly choked voice. "The way you put it, it almost sounds like a choice."

"Regardless…"

I had to hand it to Honorius – for a while there he had sounded almost sane. But the madness was creeping back into his tone now; those three syllables had all been uttered in completely different voices, and his already lengthy claws extended further outward. He tensed up on the sign, cat mouth grinning.

"Aren't you going to run again, Bartimaeus of Uruk? My impression in Prague was that it was a specialty of yours. Along with poorly constructed walls."

There is, of course, no shame in evasive action. But the little jibe ruffled my feathers all the same.

"I'm sure that if you'd been in my place, you'd have taken the scimitar to the jugular, no complaints."

"I would never have been in your place!" the cat spat, and pounced. I stopped beating my wings, dropping like a stone, and Honorius passed straight over my head. In the split second it took for him to land, turn, and launch himself at me again, I became a brawny gargoyle and swung out a stony fist, which connected with the cat's face with a satisfying crack. Honorius flew backwards towards the street; I sent a Detonation after him, and then flapped my wings and bore myself up, changing into a falcon as I went.

I tore through the air with the undead afrit in hot pursuit. I put up a Shield around myself that shattered under the first Detonation Honorius threw, and was forced into a straight-downward dive in order to avoid the Convulsion that followed. I doubled back, swerving to avoid another attack that I didn't have time to identify – it was just a bright flash I instinctively avoided – and traced a looping, dizzying path over the rooftops of London, leading Honorius farther away from the Tower and Kitty with every turn. Hopefully either she or the kid would put two and two together once I didn't return to them, and Nat would summon me as soon as possible. I just had to continue to hold Honorius's attention and evade his potent attacks until this happened. No big deal or anything.

The windows all along one side of an office building exploded outward, sending shards of glass into my path. Cursing, I swooped out in a wide arc, hoping to avoid the majority of the shards, turning around in the air to send an Inferno in my pursuer's direction. As I did so, I got a good look at his guise, which was pretty stomach-turning: a decaying eagle deflected my attack carelessly, dark clots of flesh and feathers sticking to the bones of its ribs, wings, and legs. Scarlet eyes stared malevolently out at me from the recesses of the skull. I hastily turned around, beating my wings with renewed gusto. The chase went on.

-

"Please don't."

Nathaniel felt Kitty put a hand on his shoulder. Her voice was quietly imploring, a tone he had never heard from her. Against his will, his resolve weakened a little. She had saved his life. Maybe he owed her a small display of compassion?

_You have a duty_, the magician in him reminded him sternly, but he couldn't ignore the cold pressure on his shoulder. Unexpectedly the face of his twelve-year-old self came to mind, his own reflection in the mirror of his first master's house. The briefest flash, but it made him suck in his breath. The four men in their Orbs watched him nervously.

_Please don't._

"Would one of you like to explain," he said coolly, "what happened by the docks?"

The men shuffled, eyeing each other, then one of them spoke in a deep, slow voice.

"Beggin' your pardon, sir, but I'm not sure you'd understand our motives. Or if you did, that you'd feel inclined to listen."

One of the other workers sucked his breath in through his teeth and gazed up at the Orb that imprisoned him, as if expecting it to collapse upon him in that instant.

"Then tell me, how did you come to possess those weapons?" Nathaniel asked. "They were heavily protected."

"We didn't take them ourselves," another man with thick ginger hair and a beard said quickly. "A blonde bloke gave 'em to us. Said if we really wanted to make a point, we'd use 'em. Didn't take much persuasion – we were already riled up, see."

Nathaniel raised his eyebrows.

"And did this 'blonde bloke' happen to give you his name?"

"No, just said he was sympathetic to our cause."

Nathaniel was silent for a moment, considering.

"Please, sir," the red-haired man said desperately, "I swear I'm giving you the real story. And I've got kids I need to–"

The man's plea was drowned out by the wailing alarm. A second later a uniformed guard strode through the portal, stepping into a flagstone that rose until he was level with Nathaniel.

"I'm sorry to interrupt, Mr. Mandrake," she said, leaning over to speak into his ear, too softly for the prisoners to hear, "but there's been a disturbance involving the demon that was with you earlier."

Nathaniel fought to keep his expression composed.

"What sort of disturbance?" he muttered back.

"One of our patrol foliots observed it being pursued by an afrit and raised the alarm."

An afrit. _Honorius._

"I see," he said quickly. "I'll attend to this at once."

"I assume you'll wish to resume questioning the prisoners later?"

"Yes," he replied, and hesitated for a fraction of a second before adding, "but have them moved to the regular cells first. The one we want isn't in any one of those Orbs."

"Yes, sir."

He heard Kitty sigh with relief behind him, and she squeezed his shoulder before dropping her hand. The flagstone beneath them lowered, and as soon as it was back on the ground Nathaniel strode through the portal, intent on getting to Whitehall as quickly as possible. He fervently hoped they wouldn't be attacked on the way.

"I hope Bartimaeus can hold him off," Kitty said worriedly as they sped toward the center of the city.

"I think he'll last until I can summon him. If nothing else, he's unusually good at surviving," Nathaniel told her dryly. She looked at him for a minute, then smiled suddenly.

"Your spectral trail's looking better – it's almost all purple now."

He raised an eyebrow.

"You do realize that referring to my soul as if it's a gravely ill person isn't exactly heartening, don't you?"

"Sure. I just can't think of a better way to describe it. Can you?"

Nathaniel considered for a moment, lips pursed, and finally replied, grudgingly, "No."

-

Things that do not cause Honorius much concern. Top of the list: subtlety. My path was becoming increasingly erratic as he continued to throw all kinds of imaginative, nasty spells in my direction. A particularly violent Convulsion had clipped me on the wing earlier, nearly sending me plummeting to the pavement several stories below. I was becoming increasingly exhausted, not to mention I was beginning to get seriously irritated with Nat.

I mean, how long does it take to torture people? Surely he had to be nearly done by now. I knew that Honorius was drawing out the chase unnecessarily; I was worn down enough by now that he could have overtaken me if he'd really put those rotting wings to work, but he was hoping to have the satisfaction of knocking me out of the sky with a well-aimed attack before destroying me.

My consistently successful evasions were getting to him, though – he was cursing in his multitude of voices, a different language for each variation in pitch. Still, he was so intent on killing me that it didn't seem to occur to him that I was leading him farther and farther away from his true objective. Funny, how this failed to bolster my spirits. I arced out of the way of another Detonation, ascended to avoid a horizontal pillar of fire, and performed a really nice barrel roll that carried me out of the path of a Bind.

A savage screech sounded from very close behind me, and very sharp claws reeking of decay sunk into body, pulling me to an abrupt, painful halt.

Then we began to fall, Honorius turning himself so that I was under him, flapping his wings to speed up our descent. We smashed into a rooftop with tremendous force; the impact nearly broke through the concrete. The afrit left me dazed in the crater, drifting to the edge and looking down at me with eyes blazing with hatred.

"Enough," he hissed, his wings held back, ready to rush at me. "I should have ended this earlier – ah! I was too proud. Killing you will give me so much satisfaction."

As his claws flexed, I felt the sudden tug of summons, and not a moment too soon.

"Yeah, I get that a lot," I told him, and succumbed to Nat's call, once again vanishing a second before Honorius's blow hit its mark.

-

_All recognizable characters and settings belong to Jonathan Stroud._


	7. Chapter 7

Well, I said Friday, but I finished editing earlier than I thought I would (will wonders never cease?) and waiting a day to update seemed pointless. Hope you enjoy it, leave a word if you feel so inclined.

* * *

**_Accepting Irony_**

**_Chapter 7_**

"_About bloody time!_" Bartimaeus roared as soon as he materialized in the pentacle opposite Mandrake's. He was in the form of a very disheveled falcon, and Kitty noted, concern spiking, that clumps of feathers and flesh had been torn out of his back.

"You look terrible," Mandrake observed, forehead creasing.

"As would you, if you'd been leading a crazed afrit in a mad chase around London and trying not to get killed for the better part of an hour, waiting for your git of a master to stop torturing his helpless prisoners long enough to wonder where his djinni's got to!"

"He didn't torture them, actually," Kitty blurted out, although it was hardly relevant. Bartimaeus didn't look particularly cheered by this information.

"Oh, well, great, that just makes it all worthwhile," he said sarcastically. "Don't know what I'm complaining for, now that I know that."

"What happened?" Nathaniel asked. "Apparently there's been all kinds of damage done – I was called out of the Tower and I've been hearing about it since we got back to Whitehall."

"Turns out Honorius remembers me, too, and not too fondly," Bartimaeus said grimly, folding his wings with a wince. "I was minding my own business when he came up out of nowhere and attacked. And since I have a charge to carry out," he glanced at Kitty, who felt a stab of guilt, "I led him as far away from the Tower as I could so he wouldn't catch you as you left."

Kitty exhaled loudly, closing her eyes.

"Thanks, Bartimaeus."

"Oh, stop sucking up," he grumbled, but looked very slightly mollified. He proceeded to describe his encounter with Honorius and the subsequent chase. Kitty felt her eyes widening throughout, and must have looked positively bug-eyed by the time the djinni had finished.

"…And if I hadn't been able to leave with a parting shot, I'd smash your head right in," Bartimaeus concluded with a heated glare at Mandrake, his ruffled feathers a testament to his indignation. Mandrake, for his part, looked grim.

"This is worse than I thought," he told Kitty. "I was under the impression that Bartimaeus would give Honorius more of a fight. The next time the afrit comes after you," he went on, ignoring the djinni's splutters of outrage, "we might not be so lucky."

"What should we do, then?" Kitty asked anxiously. "Do you think you should summon another–"

Mandrake shook his head before she could finish.

"I'm already overseeing a number of other djinn," he explained. "I can't take on too many or I'll start losing track. It's too dangerous."

"But we can't just keep pitting Bartimaeus against Honorius if he isn't strong enough to fight him," Kitty protested.

"I'm still _here_," Bartimaeus said loudly. "You could ask for my opinion about my own involvement any time you like."

Mandrake turned to the djinni, which had taken on the form of a cat and was tending to its wounds, with exaggerated courtesy.

"All right, then, Bartimaeus," he acquiesced, "what do you think?"

"I think you should stop thinking about this in terms of holding the undead nutcase at bay and start thinking about how to destroy it."

"He's already dead," Kitty reminded Bartimaeus, who glanced at her irritably.

"Thanks, I'd forgotten that part."

"I'm just saying," Kitty retorted, slightly stung by the djinni's sarcasm, "that _destroying _Honorius isn't an option, since he has, in fact, already been destroyed."

"I wasn't talking about killing him twice," Bartimaeus explained. "I have an idea."

"Do tell," Mandrake muttered dubiously.

"I will if you can keep your mouth shut for five seconds," the djinni shot back. "All right. Now I know this is a sore subject for you," here he threw a pointed look at Kitty, "but I don't think a soul can last on Earth for too long without running out of juice. I know you don't pay attention to much besides your clothes, Mandrake, but if you did you might've noticed that Kitty's looking a bit pale even for a specter."

"I am not–" Kitty began indignantly, but Mandrake was peering at her curiously. Judging by his suddenly worried expression, he agreed with Bartimaeus.

"I'm fine," Kitty said, her voice louder than necessary. "Look at me, I feel great."

She twirled around on the spot to emphasize this, but Mandrake was shaking his head.

"You're not floating anymore," he pointed out, his forehead wrinkling. "Kitty, I think Bartimaeus is right."

"Damn straight," the djinni affirmed. "So my point is that if Kitty's using up her spiritual battery, then so is Honorius. It's only a matter of time before his runs out, especially if he keeps trying to attack her."

"And once his energy's used up," Mandrake said thoughtfully, "he'll…do what, exactly?"

Bartimaeus shrugged his feline shoulders, then looked like he regretted it; the action must have aggravated his injuries.

"Buggered if I know," he said, his nonchalant tone offset by the fact that he was speaking through gritted teeth. "Bloody _hell_, my essence aches…"

Kitty opened her mouth to voice her concern, but Mandrake beat her to it.

"Then I'll dismiss you for a while, Bartimaeus, since we're going back to the Tower and you won't be allowed in anyway, but I'll have to call on you again before I leave work for the day."

Bartimaeus flicked his tail pensively.

"All right then, it's better than nothing."

Mandrake uttered a brief incantation and the djinni vanished. Kitty followed the magician out of the pentacle, trying to work up the energy to float as she once had. She managed to hover a bit in between steps, giving the impression that she was walking on the moon, but couldn't stay in the air for more than a second or two at a time. The realization was decidedly depressing. Even the sight of Mandrake's spectral trail, the condition of which had improved slightly due to his compassionate dismissal of Bartimaeus, couldn't shake her sudden gloom.

"Well," the magician said once they were in the privacy of his office, "now that that's taken care of, we need to get back to the Tower so I can finish questioning the prisoners. You'll be happy to know that their cells are completely devoid of any instruments of torture."

He gave her a small smile, which she returned weakly. She wondered vaguely if he could feel the positive change in his spectral trail; it seemed that every time its color shifted towards the blue end of the spectrum, his mood improved accordingly. Mandrake didn't seem to notice her lack of enthusiasm, preoccupied as he was with arranging for a small demon guard to accompany them to the Tower. She stared at her hands, noting that, as Bartimaeus had said, they looked even less substantial than usual.

She wasn't stupid; she didn't have to see the signs of her decline to figure out what her increasing exhaustion meant. That didn't keep her from desperately clinging onto the hope that Bartimaeus was somehow mistaken.

"All right," Mandrake said briskly, setting down the receiver and getting to his feet. "Two djinn will accompany us to the Tower, which should be enough to hold Honorius off if he comes after you."

"I thought Bartimaeus said we should be thinking in terms of defeating him, not delaying him," Kitty reminded him dully. Mandrake rolled his eyes.

"Bartimaeus can be an idiot."

"He's right, though, isn't he?" Kitty asked once they were settled in the back of Mandrake's car. The promised djinn were circling overhead, heads swiveling from side to side as they scanned the planes for Honorius. "I'm…fading."

Mandrake glanced at her, then away.

"Maybe a bit, but what do we know? You could just be worn out; it's been a tense few days."

Without realizing it, he was more or less mirroring her earlier argument with Bartimaeus. Kitty shook her head.

"It's not just that. I'm losing control of my powers – I can't even float properly anymore, I was trying earlier."

Mandrake frowned and opened his mouth, but Kitty kept going before he could object.

"I keep thinking about the way I came back to Earth, through that barrier in the tunnel wall. It's like I can feel it, the separation between life and death. It's getting easier to sense every minute."

In fact, it was almost as if the tunnel was calling her. She felt a sensation that reminded her of a magnet pulling a distant piece of metal towards it, inch by inch. And the closer the metal got to the magnet, the faster it moved. How long until she was simply sucked back into the tunnel? Would she be able to finish changing Mandrake in time?

The unfairness of the situation was unbelievable. It would be one thing if she had the rest of Mandrake's life to turn him around, but instead her time limit was more like a week. Surely whoever was running things in the afterlife knew that people didn't change in a matter of days!

And yet here she was, the ties binding her to Earth loosening slowly but surely. She would never admit it to Mandrake, and definitely not to Bartimaeus, but she was afraid. The glimpse of the entrance to hell had been enough to terrify her; the memory of silver prongs ripping desperate souls off the tunnel wall, reflecting the fiery inferno at the core of the underworld, made her ghostly skin crawl.

She felt Mandrake's cautious concern – for a while she had been able to block out others' emotions, but she had lost that ability along with floating – rippling out to her in small, pale waves. She stared him down.

"Stop looking at me like that; I'm still here, aren't I?" she demanded roughly.

"For how much longer?" he wondered aloud, although he averted his gaze. She continued to stare at him as he looked out the window, reflecting mournfully that he was at least on his way to becoming a decent human being. If she'd only been given a little more time, she knew she would have been able to succeed. She bit her lip to hold in her disappointed sigh.

"So I can't look at you, but you can stare until your eyes drop out of your head, is that it?" Mandrake inquired archly, and Kitty's mouth fell open as she realized he'd been watching her reflection in the tinted window the entire time.

"I was just thinking it's a shame you're still at least forty-percent bastard," she snapped, grateful once again that her face couldn't redden and betray her embarrassment.

"I suppose that accounts for your stricken look," he said thoughtfully. He didn't seem at all affected by her harsh comment; in fact, he sounded amused.

"You are _not_ enjoying this," she said dangerously. He snorted.

"If you can't float, I think it's safe to say hypnosis is out as well."

"You cretin!" she yelled. "Do you work at being that insensitive? I tell you I'm getting weaker by the second, which means I could be sucked into hell at any moment, and you're _mocking _me!"

Mandrake raised his eyebrows, looking determinedly straight ahead.

"Your volume hasn't been affected, at any rate. Thank God for small mercies."

Kitty gritted her teeth, for a moment too overcome with fury to speak. She was silent for several seconds, hands clenched into fists, concentrating on not bashing Mandrake's head in with all of her remaining strength. When she had recovered enough to think of things that didn't involve the magician's grisly demise, she turned to look at him. He no longer looked as though he found the situation funny; he was frowning, unwanted concern working its way back into his expression.

"Are you having an emotional _spasm?_" Kitty demanded scathingly. The young magician sighed, running his hand through his well-oiled hair.

"No. I'm just wrong."

"You bet you are, buster." She hesitated. "Wrong about what in particular?"

"I thought that if I provoked you enough – which is disturbingly easy, by the way – you'd start levitating again. You always did before, when you were worked up. If you had, then it would have been safe to assume that you were only worn out, not losing control of your abilities."

Kitty glanced down at herself as if to confirm that she was, unfortunately, still sitting on the leather seat.

"But you didn't," Mandrake continued, his expression darkening, "so it seems that Bartimaeus really is correct, loathe as I am to admit it."

Kitty's heart sank even though she had already resigned herself to this reality.

"What're we going to do?" she asked softly, staring at her fingers, which were twisted together in her lap. "It doesn't feel like I have much longer…and like I said, you're still at least part bastard," she added wryly, quirking an eyebrow at Mandrake.

"The attempt should count for something," he muttered, looking away. "People don't change in a matter of days."

Kitty blinked, startled to hear her exact thoughts spoken in Mandrake's voice.

"Well," she said, trying and failing to sound casual, "looks like death's not fair, either."

-

If you've ever dropped utterly exhausted into bed and gone to sleep, only to be woken by a screeching alarm what feels like seconds later, you have a fraction of the idea of what it feels like to return to the Other Place only to be yanked back before you can even settle in properly. My reluctant return to Earth might have been the tiniest bit more bearable if I'd been greeted with any kind of enthusiasm, but instead the two faces staring out at me from the opposite pentacle were eerily reminiscent of the Tragedy mask.

"I'm so happy to see you, too!" I exclaimed sarcastically.

"You were right," Nat said dismally, glancing at Kitty and then at the carefully painted runes on the floor. "Kitty's running out of time."

Well, no surprises there, but still…

"Funny, I thought we'd already established that. I seem to recall a long, overly simplified explanation on my part, and dawning comprehension and agreement on yours."

"You could have been wrong," Nat points out without much conviction. I scoffed.

"Right. When has that ever happened?"

"You've had your moments, but that's not the point," the kid said sharply. "We need to figure out a way to keep her out of hell, since I doubt she'll last long enough to finish her job here."

"You can't stop being a prat and make the job a little easier on her? I'm appalled."

"I've made progress," he snapped defensively, looking at Kitty for support. She squinted at him and nodded.

"Still mostly purple. It helped that you were civil to those workers just now."

I'd forgotten that Nat still had to wring information out of his prisoners.

"Huh, gathering information without torture. Groundbreaking. Find out anything interesting?"

Nat waved a hand impatiently.

"Someone's going around adding fuel to the fire, somehow procuring magical weapons and passing them along to protestors. No one seems to know anything about him, though – I've been asking questions for hours and all I have is a very vague description."

"Interesting," I remarked thoughtfully. "It has a magician-like stink about it: this mystery person lurks in the shadows and lets other people do their dirty work for them."

"There's always the possibility it's a traitor," Nat admitted. "It would explain how they managed to take the weapons in the first place – they're protected by all sorts of enchantments, naturally. Unfortunately, the description of the person giving out the weapons doesn't match up with anyone in Whitehall."

"Could be a Glamour," I suggested.

"Could be Nick Drew," Kitty said suddenly, and both of our heads swiveled toward her. She had the wide-eyed look of one who's just figured out something that should have been completely obvious to begin with.

"It fits," she continued excitedly. "Nick's blonde, he's big – just like the workers said. _And_ he has access to weapons and knows how to activate most of them."

Nat's expression was caught somewhere between triumph and doubt.

"Where could he find weapons?" he asked, and Kitty gives him an impatient look.

"In the cellar, remember? Where we were keeping the Staff."

A dark look passed over her face and she glanced away. Apparently this memory, which took place the night she had died, had reminded her of her current, unpleasant situation. Typically, my master didn't seem to pick up on her sudden change in mood, instead informing Kitty that the cellar had been cleared out by a team of police soon after the incident.

"But that doesn't mean it can't be him," he babbles on. "That was _brilliant_, Kitty – he was an old Resistance member, wasn't he? The only other one who escaped Gladstone's tomb?"

"Yes, he was," Kitty answered softly, and Nat froze, realizing that he had blundered right into sensitive territory.

"I'm sorry," he said immediately. "I shouldn't have–"

"It's okay," she replied just as quickly.

"No, really, I–"

"_Ahem._"

Both of them looked over at me with slightly indignant expressions. I rolled my eyes.

"Hate to ruin this touching moment, but wasn't there a problem we were supposed to be working on?"

"Before you got us off-track? Yes, there was," Nat mutters, flicking his wrists to straighten out the arms of his suit jacket; apparently his old, preening habits persisted despite Kitty's claims of improvement.

"How to make a ghost live longer…" I mused aloud, tapping a finger against my chin speculatively.

-

"How is it," Satan asked softly, ignoring the writhing and screaming of the archdemon at his feet, "that a single soul is proving so troublesome to capture? You have her location on Earth. You have the one soul determined to tear the girl and the sorry creature defending her to tiny shreds hunting her down. Why all the bungling?"

He eased Balmung's torment just enough so that his servant could answer.

"I…don't understand it either…Your Darkness," Balmung gasped. This was, apparently, the wrong answer – the archdemon howled in agony as a new wave of pain washed over him.

"You're useless," he hissed. "Unable to accomplish even the simplest of tasks."

"It's Honorius!" Balmung screamed, his form no longer concrete but twisting, boiling smoke. "He's the one who keeps fouling it up! Please, no more!"

Satan laughed maliciously and increased his torturous hold on Balmung's soul. Passing off blame was so amateurish, honestly – look what it had done to Adam and Eve.

"Call Honorius back," Satan instructed calmly over Balmung's sobs and pleas, "and give him new instructions. If the girl can't be dragged back directly, we'll have to try something different, make her come to us."

He smiled cruelly.

"Tell Honorius to kill the boy."

* * *

_All recognizable characters and settings belong to Jonathan Stroud._


End file.
